


Control

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Bottom Stiles, Car Accident, Explicit Sexual Content, Feels, Fluff, Gay Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Omega Verse, Omega!Stiles, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Riding, Rimming, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smoking, Smut, beta!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 58,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6265021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wasn’t ready for any of this.<br/>He wasn’t ready to be a werewolf.<br/>He wasn’t ready to face uncontrollable urges.<br/>He wasn’t ready to live a life of lies and deceit.<br/>And he definitely was not ready to fall in love with Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART ONE: BITTEN - Chapter One

There was a rush of air; a cascading wall of swirling white noise that hit him hard enough to throw him into reality, eyes open and gasping for air.

He groaned, squinting against the glaring light which streamed through the window. He turned his face into the pillow, letting the soft cotton muffle his groan.

Everything hurt; his head, his body.

The room smelt of crisp pine trees and a bitter metallic scent which lingered in his nostrils and thickened his saliva, making him want to choke.

Stiles pulled the blanket up further over himself, encasing his body in the warm embrace of a cocoon of sheets. The heavy scent of musk and primal sweat put him at ease.

Something seemed off.

His sheets usually smelt of laundry detergent and whatever drink he had spilled on them that week. His sheets were starchy, thick and rough, not worn down and soft like these.

He opened his eyes again, a little wider this time. The muscles in his neck strained as he turned to look around the room. It wasn’t well furnished – rather minimalistic – but liveable. Simple. The double bed was pressed against the wall – no bed head or fancy frame, just a thick mattress and a base – with a small oak table resting beside it. The grain proved its age, thick rings of a tree that had lived for centuries now chipped and charred despite the owner’s best attempts to keep it preserved.

Stiles turned his attention to the wall before him. Thin panels of soft green plaster framed the chipped wooden sill of the window. Flakes of white paint were embedded in the grooves of the panels. The glass clattered and groaned like the monster beneath the bed as it sat – restrained – in its fitting, tales of age and wear around the house. The window sill had been renovated, the plank or wood replaced by a thick plank of ply wood, not yet painted to suit its surroundings. Beneath the window sat an old, off-white oil heater, the corrugated iron panel rusting near the connectors and along the pipes. Streaks of orange and grey tore through the white paint like an open wound.

Stiles sat up, shivering as the sheets fell to his waist, rippling and pooling around him.

His soft brown eyes scanned the rest of the room, stopping on the sight of the dark figure resting against the far wall. His dark grey shirt rippled as he folded his arms across his chest, the open collar of his V-neck dipping down over his collarbone to reveal the patch of toned beige skin. He was young, twenty-four, but the shadows of his eyes begged to differ. His hair was dark and thick, cropped short at the base of his skull and across his strong jaw, the soft whiskers casting a shadow across his jaw and framing his sharp cheekbones. His wide-set eyes were pale beneath his dark brows, narrowed on him as the colour of his irises shifted in the light; from hazel to green, to a shade of light blue – clear, bright and focused. His face was drawn into his usual scowl, his expression unreadable as his cool eyes returned Stiles’ inquiring gaze.

Derek Hale.

“How do you feel?” he asked, gruff voice softened by what could easily be mistaken for concern.

Stiles stared at him for a moment, trying to clear the misty haze of sleep and shock. Stiles tilted his head, staring at Derek in confusion. A chill ran down his spine, icy fingers dragging across each and every disc. Stiles shifted nervously on the bed. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“What do you remember about last night?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Stiles objected, voice quiet and cautious.

“You didn’t answer mine,” Derek responded bluntly.

They was silent for a moment. Stiles dropped his eyes in thought, his attention drawn to the bunched sheets around his waist. His thoughts were washed away as his eyes caught sight of the thick bandage wrapped around his ribs. Swirls of brown and red seeped through the cotton dressing. The smell wisped into his nostrils again, the thick scent of iron… of blood.

Stiles swallowed hard against the condensed saliva and rising bile that blocked his throat. He held his breath, blood pulsating in his ears and deafening him as he slowly pulled the dressing away with trembling fingers. The strips of tape left angry red marks across his pale skin. He froze, feeling his muscles tense as fear and nausea worked its way through his body. He failed to draw his eyes away from the ring of puncture marks which coiled around his side and bit into his flesh.

His breath was shallow as he lifted his eyes to Derek, lips trembling as he tried to form words. “You bit me?”

Derek drew in a heavy breath, air hissing as it filled his nostrils. He dropped his gaze, eyes glimmering as he tried to hide something. It wasn’t guilt, but something else. Pity. Fear.

Stiles waited, hoping for some kind of explanation. He held his breath, waiting for Derek to smirk or laugh and tell him it was a joke or a prank; anything to defuse the tension. But Derek simply shook his head.

“Th-This is a joke, right?” Stiles stuttered, hands trembling as he gestured his shaking fingers towards the open gashes of flesh. Tears stung at Stiles’ eyes. He failed to draw breath. His lungs burnt, the fiery agony radiating through his flesh.

Derek shook his head again.

“I… I…” Stiles pressed the palms of his hands against his forehead. He grabbed at fistfuls of his unkempt hair. He tugged at the stands of soft locks, his scalp stinging but not matching the growing burning agony in his chest, as if he had inhaled matchsticks and petrol and this was the flame that set it all alight.

He was desperate to draw air but his lungs failed him. His lead-lined but tore him apart from the inside out. It was becoming impossible for him to breathe. His broken sobs fell from trembling lips as he tried to move his mouth and form words.

Flashes of light and colours blinded him. Tears welled in his eyes.

He was light-headed.

His body wavered on the unsteady mattress.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was distant; soft and unreachable. “You okay?”

His lips moved to form the word ‘no’ but his voice faltered and failed him.

He felt the bed rock, his body swaying submissively with the dipping mattress.

Strong hands guided him, gently urging him to curl over. He pulled his knees to his chest and pressed his forehead to the mattress.

There was a warm presence by his side. A strong hand slid across his back, gently rubbing circles between his shoulder blades.

“Breathe out as much as you can,” Derek instructed. “Then take one deep breath in.”

Stiles shook his head. Tears thumped against the sheets. He watched them fall, leaving darkened pools as they stole the warmth from his cheeks. He shivered as a cold sweat rolled over him, seeping into every pore of his skin and chilling him to the core.

“C-Can’t,” he stuttered. His voice caught in the back of his throat. He wanted to ask Derek to hold him, to tell him it would be okay, but he could barely muster a whimper.

There was a rustle of fabric a thick blanket settled over Stiles’ shoulders.

Derek lowered his face to Stiles’ and whispered, "You know riddles, right?”

Stiles nodded slightly, whimpering at the pain of his breathless lungs.

“What gets bigger the more you take away?”

“A hole,” Stiles answered, gulping down a mouthful of air.

Derek nodded. “What gets wetter the more it dries?”

“A towel,” Stiles gasped, feeling the cold rush of air as it rolled across his sweating body and into his lungs.

“What lives if it eats but dies if it drinks?”

“Fire.” The words fell off his tongue as if it were instinctual. He began to relax, releasing the tension in his muscles and sinking into the mattress.

Derek kept going, watching as Stiles’ breath began to settle and his trembling hands stilled. “What’s so fragile that speaking its name will shatter it?”

“Silence,” Stiles whispered.

“A rich man needs it, a poor man has it, and if you eat it you will die. What is it?” Derek encouraged him, gently rubbing circled between his shoulder blades. He felt the ridges of his back rise and fall as the boy began to breathe slowly.

“Nothing.”

“That’s right.” Derek whispered. “Everyone has it but no-one can lose it. What is it?”

Stiles paused, his eyes flicking back and forth as he thought. His lips trembled and his breath hitched as he stuttered. “I-I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Derek whispered, craning his neck to look the boy in the eyes.

Stiles sniffed and turned to look at Derek.

The man’s pale hazel eyes searched Stiles’ face, trying hard to mask the small glimmer of worry which dwelled in the depths of his irises.

Stiles smiled weakly, not really feeling up to putting effort into something which obviously wasn’t going to be believable.

“Stay here,” Derek instructed. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

The bed shifted and he left. Stiles shivered at the loss of warmth, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders as he listened to the creaking floorboards as Derek disappeared downstairs. He sat upright and slouched back, his shoulders resting against the plastered wall at the head of the bed. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting against the glaring light.

_How’d I get bitten?!_

He glanced down at his ribs, a trail of black blood trickled from the open gash, rolling down his pale skin, engulfing freckles and caressing his protruding bones. He watched, slightly distanced from himself, as layers of skin built upon themselves and stitched back together and closing the puncture wounds and open gashes. In seconds the bite was gone, with only a stream of black ooze and blood-soaked bandages to prove it wasn’t some kind of twisted nightmare.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the new patch of skin that covered his ribs. He traced his fingers across it, disturbed but somewhat relieved at how it blended perfectly into the rest of his flesh.

The feeling of relief was short lived as panic seeped into his blood again.

He was exposed; wearing only his boxers and cowering like a child in Derek Hale’s bed.

_How’d I get here?_

“What do you remember?”

He flinched at the voice.

Cool green eyes waited for him to settle before offering the glass of water. Stiles took it gratefully.

“Are you really that afraid of me?” Derek smirked.

“You’ve never given me a reason not to be afraid of you,” Stiles muttered, lifting the water to his lips. He took a sip and lowered it, watching the clear liquid swirl against the edged of the glass. “And I don’t remember anything.”

“Stiles.” The gruff, authoritative tone returned to Derek’s voice. “There’s another alpha out there; the one that bit you. I need to know anything and everything you know to make sure I can take them down before they become a threat.”

“I don’t know anything!” Stiles yelped. His voice was strained, scratching open his sore throat. The tears returned.

He knew it wasn’t Derek’s fault, but raw emotions were brewing inside of him, spilling like lava from and erupting volcano, and he couldn’t help but raise his voice.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. He slowly exhaled, opening his eyes as he muttered. “A shadow. Everyone has one, but no-one can lose it.” He paused, blinking back his tears. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember anything about last night. I don’t remember what happened to me. I don’t remember who attacked me. I don’t even remember how I got here.”

Derek sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Stiles. “You’ve been here since about one this morning, so just over ten hours. The full moon was last night and judging by your healing rate I’d say that you were bitten sometime around midnight.” He raked his fingers through his short, raven black hair. “I didn’t hear anything. I just found you, bleeding out on my doorstep.” He stopped, drooping his hands to his lap. When he spoke again his voice was a whisper, barely audible as he tried to swallow the fear which laced the words, “I honestly thought you were going to die.”

Stiles hung his head, silent.

Derek turned to face him. “Hey,” he whispered, getting the boy’s attention. “We’ll work something out. If you want, I’ll help you.” His eyes glimmered as Stiles lifted his chocolate brown irises to meet them.

“Please,” Stiles whimpered with a slight nod.

Derek nodded. He took the glass from Stiles’ hands and set it down on the small bedside table. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and drew out his phone, offering it to Stiles. “But first you have to call off your father’s search party.”

Stiles took it, his fingers trembling as he quickly typed in the phone number he had memorised years ago. He lifted the phone to his ear and listened, the ringing tone spiking his heartbeat.

A click silenced the tone as someone answered.

“Sheriff Stilinski.”

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles started, cautiously.

“Stiles?” his father asked, his voice a mix of disbelief, fear and relief. He heard a rustle and clatter of objects as his father dropped everything he was holding and raced towards the nearest door. “Where are you? What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he lied. If his father didn’t see him, he couldn’t tell he’s lying. He’d never know. At least that’s what Stiles had convinced himself. “I’m…” He weakened. “I’m at Derek’s place… I guess I was sleep walking.”

“Derek… Hale?” There was tension in his voice.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied.

“I’m coming to get you.”

“No.” He blurted out without thinking. He paused, mind racing for an excuse. He glanced over to Derek, void eyes staring back at him. The man lifted his eyebrows.

“I’m really tired and Derek says I can stay here a little while,” Stiles continued.

Derek’s expression softened and he gave a small nod, an indication that he had said the right thing.

“Stiles,” his dad started, still tense.

“Dad,” the boy interrupted, voice soft and reassuring. “I’m okay.”

“Stiles, your car was found abandoned and covered in blood on the outskirts of town. Forensics ran a test against my blood and the results say it’s a parental match to you.”

Stiles bit his lip. “I’m okay. I’ve only got a few cuts and bruises,” he lied. “Nothing that won’t heal in a few days.” _Or hours_.

He heard the rustling static of a sigh but he knew it was forced. “Okay, just… call me later and let me know when you’re coming home, alright?”

“Okay,” Stiles promised. There was a moment of silence as white noise flooded the call. “And Dad?”

“Yeah?”

Stiles felt tears push past the heavy bars of his eyelashes. He tried to hold his voice together as he said, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Stiles,” his father whispered softly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.” Stiles hung up. He sniffed, feeling the hot tears caress his cheeks. He turned away from Derek’s gaze and rubbed his face against his forearm. He offered the man back his phone and took a moment to compose himself. Stiles breathed deeply and turned his eyes back to Derek. His irises glowed a disturbingly vibrant yellow as he asked, “What do I do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first fic. I hope you all enjoy it. :)
> 
> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter Two

Stiles stood in the dark foyer, shifting from one foot to the other. He tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves, eyes scanning the open house from something to amuse him while he waited.

He could hear Derek upstairs, rustling through draws as he pulled on a shirt. He could hear the flick and crack of the leather as the man swung the jacket behind him and shrugged it on. He heard the painful whine of the creaking floorboards which shifted under Derek’s feet. He could hear the steady pounding of Derek’s heartbeat and the staggered palpitations of his own. He could hear his wispy breath louder than the howling autumn winds outside the manor. He could hear the round flesh of a leaf flapping as it was carried away by the wind. He could hear the ruffle of a bird’s feathers as it perched itself on a branch somewhere among the boughs of the trees.

He heard everything.

Stiles dropped to his knees, scrambling to the nearest doorframe and cowering within the shadows. He drew his knees to his chest, squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his ears, muffling the sounds but not drowning them out.

Somewhere among the cascading noise he heard a voice call out his name, strong and demanding at first but growing soft and fearful with every repetition.

Lights danced across his eyelids, shifting as a dark shadow was cast over him. Thick, warm fingers wound around his wrists but didn’t draw his hands away.

“It’s so loud,” he cried.

Stiles heard the man whisper clearly, as if he were talking at normal volume. “Block it out.”

“I can’t,” the boy whimpered.

“Just imagine drawing a line, a circle with a one meter radius, right around you and only listen to what’s there.”

Stiles tried to imagine it, holding his breath in an attempt to focus. Everything grew louder, the noise escalating like a tidal wave which threatened to destroy him.

“I can’t,” he cried, gritting his teeth as pain pressed against the inside of his skull.

“Find my heartbeat,” Derek whispered. “Listen to my heartbeat.”

Stiles held his breath, eyes moving beneath his eyelids as he searched through the mess of noise for the steady thumping metronome beat.

“How do you tell when someone’s lying?”

“Tells,” Stiles muttered. “Like… like fidgeting, or a twitching eye, or a skipped heartbeat.”

“Okay, look at me,” Derek instructed. Stiles slowly opened his eyes to the swirling sea of blues and greens of Derek’s irises. “Listen to my heart,” Derek continued, not moving his eyes away from Stiles’. “You will be okay.”

Stiles waited, dreading the possibility of a skipped beat but nothing happened. His heartbeat was normal. No fluctuations or fluttering.

Derek let go of Stiles’ wrists, sliding his hands up and over the tendons and veins which lined the back of his hands. The boy shivered beneath his touch.

“I promise, when you take your hands away, you’ll be okay.”

He didn’t twitch or look away, his heartbeat steady.

Stiles took a deep breath and slowly lowered his hands, letting Derek’s fingers guide them away from his ears. Stiles waited, expecting the tsunami of noise to crash over him and consume him, but nothing happened. The world had dimmed to nothing but the dwelling whistle of a breeze and rustling leaves outside the house.

“Better?” Derek asked in a hushed tone.

Stiles nodded and offered a weak smile.

“I know it’s hard and a little scary but you just need to learn to control it, to anchor yourself.”

Stiles stared down at the water. He spoke into his glass as he lifted it to his lips for a drink. “Any chance I can learn to control it before school tomorrow?”

“Most likely, no,” Derek said, blunt and honest. “But we can try.”

 

#

 

“I can’t do it.”

Derek huffed and tossed his head back in frustration.

“Yes, you can,” he shouted from across the open space. “Just focus.”

Stiles shook his arms and bounced about on the spot as if preparing to run a race. He spread his legs and centred himself against the ground. He slowed his breathing and listened.

Nothing.

He strained himself, tilting and turning his head as if it would help.

Nothing.

He balled his fists and thrashed about before dropping to the ground. He folded his arms over his chest and pouted. “I can’t do it,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Twigs and leaves crackled beneath Derek’s boots as he made his way over to Stiles’ side.

He didn’t look up. “I’m trying,” Stiles explained, voice strained. “But I just can’t do it. It’s like it comes in waves; either I hear everything at once, or nothing at all.”

“Okay,” Derek sighed. “We’ll try something else.”

“What?” Stiles snapped. “What else can we try?!” Stiles returned Derek’s cold glare with his own burning rage.

“You’re just like Scott, you know that?”

“No, I’m not.” Stiles reared back and rose to his feet, still a few inches too short to be considered intimidating. He lifted his hand and started to count his fingers along with his arguments. “One, I have better grades. Two, both of his parents are still alive. Three, his mother doesn’t live her life paranoid that her son is trying to kill her – as ironic as that seems some days. Four, I am _way_ hotter than he is and five, _he has his powers under control_.”

Derek was silent for a minute, waiting for Stiles to stop heaving in rugged breaths and calm down. His gruff voice finally broke the tension. “Did you honestly think that you could just learn how to control these powers in a few hours?”

Stiles opened his mouth to retort but stopped, shoulders dropping with defeat.

“It took Scott months to find his anchor and control his powers. I’m a beta, I was born with these powers and _I’m_ still learning.”

“What a great mentor you are,” Stiles muttered under his breath.

Derek smacked him playfully up the side of his head. “But unlike you, I have acute hearing.”

 _Omega_.

The boy perked up, narrowing his eyes at Derek before turning his attention to the tree line.

Birds squawked and chirped. Leaves rustled and crackled. But all noises were quiet, one noise reaching him as clear as day; the voice.

It passed through him like a whisper on the wind.

 _Omega_.

He felt his eyes ignite, glowing instinctually in response to the call.

He whipped his head around, fangs bared as he snarled at the shadows.

 _Omega_.

In his peripheral vision, he could see Derek’s mouth moving and his eyes rolling over the boy with concern and confusion. He said a few other words but the noise never reached the boy’s ears.

 _Kill_.

He turned, eyes locked onto Derek.

He lowered his body to the ground, claws piercing the veiny wings of fallen leaves as he braced himself. He arched his spine, glaring at the simmering sapphire irises of the beta.

His blood felt cold, his muscles tense but not in his control. He felt like a puppet, moved against his consent by unknown hands.

 _Kill_.

Derek seemed to catch on. He spread his legs and braced himself, fangs bared as he stared down the boy.

Stiles snarled, a rumbling snarl tearing itself from his lungs.

Derek returned the growl, his roar louder and dominating.

Stiles flinched, but couldn’t break free of his puppeteers grasp.

_Kill!_

Stiles lunged forward, sprinting off his feet and lurching at Derek.

The man grabbed his outstretched arm and tossed him aside. He collided with the thick trunk of a tree. The bark scratched at his skin as he rose to his feet. He let loose a feral screech and leapt forwards again. Derek dodged the attack.

Stiles hit the ground and rolled, quickly returning to his hands and feet as he sprinted towards the beta. Derek braced himself and took the blow, pushing back against the omega will all his might.

Sharp nails collided with flesh, spilling blood across the forest floor.

Derek knocked Stiles’ feet out from beneath him, pinning him down against the ground. Stiles thrashed about in his hold but Derek pushed him further back against the uneven earth. Derek leant in closer, face hovering above Stiles’ as his howl split the air.

Stiles fell still beneath Derek, bright yellow irises dying away to the usual chestnut brown. He stared up at Derek, shaken from the alpha’s control and lying motionless in shock.

The sparking sapphire of Derek’s eyes faded as his grip on Stiles weakened. He stood up, hurling the boy to his feet with him.

He kept his eyes on the trees, slowly moving the boy back into the house. They stepped past the doorframe, enveloped by shadows. Feeling the cool embrace of the house, Derek sighed and turned to Stiles who sat on the lowest step of the large staircase, head hung in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” the boy whimpered, voice muffled by his palms. His shoulders began to tremble as droplets of water streamed down his forearms. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Derek comforted him, slowly walking over to his side and sitting beside him. “It was the alpha, not you.”

“He told me to,” Stiles sobbed.

Derek wrapped his arms around the boy, lowering his head atop Stiles’ dishevelled hair. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

“They’re angry. They think I betrayed them.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t,” Stiles cried. He dropped his hands away from his face, puffy red eyes staring at the front door.

Derek lifted his head, turning his eyes to Stiles. His husky voice was soft as it rolled through the boy’s veins, warming Stiles’ blood. “Hey, we’ll work this out. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“But fear keeps you human, doesn’t it?” Stiles sniffed, rubbing the sleeve of his jacket across his face. “If I don’t fear it then how am I meant to stop it? How am I meant to stop myself?”

“I’ll stop you.”

“And what if you’re not there?” Stiles turned on him, eyes flaring and voice echoing through the ruins of the house. “What if you’re not there when I need you?” He bit his lip and turned away. “What if you’re not there to stop me and I hurt someone?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I need to be able to control this. Like you said last night, I need fear… to pull me back, to anchor me, to _stop_ me from becoming a monster.”

Derek moved to crouch before Stiles, catching his eye. His irises glowed a magnificent blue as he said, “Fear me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter Three

“Stiles,” Scott called across the school parking lot. He sprinted up to his best friend, practically balling him over when he reached him. “Dude, where have you been? My mum said that the police were investigating some kind of accident and there was a lot of blood at the scene which matched yours and you were missing and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Scott, calm down.” Stiles smiled, his friend’s worry setting him at ease. “I’m okay, aside from the fact that I don’t remember what happened.” Stiles shrugged his bag further up onto his shoulders, tugging at the straps as they walked up the stairs and towards the big blue doors which lead into the school. “And I don’t have my phone because apparently I left it in my Jeep along with a substantial amount of my blood. But, ready for the weird bit?” He turned to his friend and swung his arms open. “I’m unharmed. Not a scratch on me.”

Scott ran his eyes over Stiles as if to confirm. His squinted at his friend, seemingly confused. “Did you walk to school?”

“Yeah, my Jeep’s in the shop and I needed to clear my head.”

Scott looked at his friend, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles replied, trying to sound genuine.

“Then what the hell happened?”

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t know. I only remember waking up at Derek’s.” His voice strained and screeching from his irritation of having to repeat himself.

Scott froze. Stiles span around to face him again, taken aback by the expression that fell across Scott’s face. His almond skin drained of colour and his eyes wide with shock. “Derek’s?”

“Yeah, Derek’s.”

Scott didn’t say anything, he just stared vacantly at Stiles.

“What?”

“Derek’s?” he asked again.

“Yes. At _Derek’s_ house,” he reiterated slowly. “You’re a great conversationalist.”

“Why were you at Derek’s?” Scott asked, following Stiles as they moved towards their lockers. He pulled his locker open and dropped his bag among the mess of notebooks, texts and worksheets.

“I don’t know. I woke up there. No idea why I was there or how I got there, but I was there.”

“Did he do anything to you?”

“No,” he replied hurriedly. _I wish_. He turned and smiled at his friend. “I am perfectly fine.”

A locker slammed shut and Stiles flinched.

He tightened his grip on his locker door. His hand trembled as tendons and knuckles threatened to burst through his pale skin.

The noises began to grow louder. Voices. Chatter. Phones ringing and buzzing as texts flew back and forth. Lock dials clicked as they span. Locker doors rattled and boomed as they slammed shut. Books slid from the hands of students, slamming against the linoleum. Papers flittered and crackled in lockers as the children sorted through their notebooks and homework. Cars revved their engines and the hinges on the heavy blue doors whined. Chalk screeching like nail against the boards in the classrooms. Somewhere in the chaos of noise, Scott was asking if he was okay.

Stiles held his breath. He shut his eyes and tapped his finger against his locker door, mocking a heartbeat. He imagined the shimmering sapphire eyes staring him down. The warm voice in his ears. _You will be okay_.

He slowly let go of his breath and focused on the tapping. No faltering.

“Stiles?”

He turned his head, smiling up at Scott. “Hmm?”

“You zoned out. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “I… will be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter Four

Stiles tossed about on the bed, the sheets tightening around his ankles. The friction burnt at his skin. He kicked at the blanket, thrashing about and freeing himself. Laying still, he heaved in breaths, feeling the cool night air roll over the lingering layer of sweat which clung to his skin. He turned on his side and collapsed onto his front, falling off the edge of the plush mattress and onto the cushion of damp autumn leaves, piles of rotting flesh which littered the forest floor.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head, slimy, wet leaves sticking to his cheek as he turned his eyes towards the darkness. The usual autumn tones of brown, gold and red were darkened by the night, now a dreary mix of greys and heavy black shadows. Dense foliage hung overhead, enclosing the space, shutting out the sky and filtering moonlight. Streams of silver light surrounded him, not enough to see but just enough to distinguish shapes from shadows.

Among the darkness he could make out the fluorescent bleached skeletons of the birch trees, their slender trunks lining the shadows as eye-like rings watched him from all angles.

He was in the forest; that much he knew.

He braced his hands against the ground, sharp sticks prodding his palms. Twigs and leaves rustled and broke beneath him as he lifted his weight to his wobbling legs. He slowly turned in circles, surveying his surroundings. Fallen branches snagged at his bare ankles, scratching at the pale skin and drawing small droplets of blood. The extended limbs reached for him like the hands of the damned, ready to drag him down into the inky black abyss.

He lifted his hands before his face, clenched his fist and slowly extended one finger after the other as he counted, “One, two, three, four-five-six-seven-eight-nine… ten.”

He wasn’t dreaming.

There was a rustle in the bushes in front of him. Clumps of leaves and low hanging branches crackling, shaking and bowing as a big black shadow slinked into the open, broad feet thumping the ground. Claws dug into the mud, upturning the dirt and releasing the sweet earthy scent.

“Derek?” Stiles whispered, too scared to call out.

The silhouette froze. Crimson eyes turned on him as the creature rose up on its hind feet. Its large form was unhuman; standing tall on curved, slender legs. The bright red eyes were set above an elongated snout. Long arms hung at its side, disfigured hands – hairy like a wolf’s paws – stretched, thick, curved claws lit by the bleeding streams of moonlight.

Stiles froze, eyes wide.

The alpha.

He held his breath, pulse pounding in his eyes.

The beast towered before him, growling – low but somewhat soft – as it called to him.

 _Omega_.

Stiles felt his power flicker through his blood in response, his eyes igniting with a golden glow.

His breath fell from his lungs, rolling lifelessly past his lips.

“What do you want from me?” the boy whimpered.

The creature lowered its head, arching its shoulders. Bright red eyes narrowed on the boy. It opened its jaws, but quickly turned its attention to something behind the boy.

A powerful roar tore through the air, passing him like a howling wind as a dark figure sprinted past him.

The alpha dropped back to all fours and disappeared into the dark forest, the new comer hot on their heels.

Stiles winced, shaken from the alpha’s grasp.

The sound of growls, thumping clumps of dirt and crunching leaves dimmed as the two vanished into the forest. A thin veil of mist rolled across the forest floor.

Stiles shivered, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The cold air stung at the flesh his bare feet, rotting carcases of brown leaves clinging to his skin.

“Derek,” he sobbed, lips trembled as tears threatened to push past his eyelashes.

He felt so small; scared, stranded and alone.

Noises flooded the forest; a coalition of swishing, rustling, crunching and crackling. Stiles stumbled around as he slowly turned in circles. His heart pounded and blood rushed into his ears. His shallow breath swirled before his in a thin white cloud. His eyes flickered among the shadows.

A warm hand fell on his shoulder.

Stiles jerked back, screaming and flailing defensively.

“Stiles,” Derek barked, grabbing the boy’s wrists to still him. His gruff voice silenced the boy, the warmth of his touch bleeding into his veins. His pale eyes gleamed blue with the power of a beta. “It’s okay,” Derek whispered. “Come on. Let’s go.” He gently tugged at the boy’s wrist, ushering him behind his solid form and guiding the boy out of the forest, the bright sapphire irises locked on the wavering shadows.

Only when they were back inside the Hale house with the doors locked did Derek turn to Stiles. His eyes faded back to the glittering tones of amblygonite as they rolled the boy over.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered.

Derek lifted his eyes to meet the tear-filled brown depths of Stiles’. Derek felt his composure falter as he softened. “You didn’t do anything.”

He dropped his gaze, fiddling with his fingertips. “I don’t know what happened. I guess I was sleepwalking. I just… woke up there.”

“Stiles.” The authoritative tone had returned to Derek’s voice, not quite as harsh as usual. “It’s okay.”

Stiles bit his lip. “I’m scared,” he whispered.

“Good. If you’re scared then you’re still human.” Derek tapped the Stiles’ chin, encouraging the boy to look him in the eye. “Fear and pain are good. They keep you alive. They keep you human. Fear the day when you don’t feel pain and when you fear nothing.” He straightened his back and gently tussled Stiles’ hair. He wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Let’s get you back to bed, pup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	5. Chapter Five

Stiles didn’t realise that he’d fallen asleep until he woke up, yet again, curled up and perfectly at peace in Derek’s bed.

He sat up, shoulders slumped forward and head lulling about. Strands of dark brown hair fluttered before his eyes; ruffled, twisted and askew. He turned his groggy eyes towards the surrounding four walls, taking note of the recently restored layers of pale olive green paint which covered the sheets of plaster. The thick support beams which framed the room were burnt, black and distorted like the disfigured body of Atlas, bowing beneath an unimaginable weight. The room smelt of sweet dew and crisp birch trees, tainted by the lingering scent of rotting leaves, fallen pine needles, ash and wet dog. Thick shadows lurked in every corner, crevice and crack, retreating from the blaring light which filtered through the open window. The morning light illuminated the angelic swirl of the sparking particles of dust.

But no Derek.

Stiles moaned as he made a pathetic attempt to kick off the blankets and roll out of bed. Dragging his feet across the soft, shag rug that covered the floorboards, he made his way over to the bedroom door which sat open on its rusted hinges. He stood beneath the frame, toes behind the boarder of the bedroom as he leant out into the long, dark hallway, searching for Derek.

From down the hallway he could hear the hushed puffs of panting and laboured breaths.

Curiosity won him over.

He stepped into the seemingly tunnelling hallway, the bowing black walls threatening to collapse in on him. He cautiously crept across upturned floorboards and fallen rubble, fearful of the dark depths which dwelled beneath them—lurking monsters waiting for the perfect opportunity to attack.

He stepped out of the dark hallway and found himself standing at the top of the staircase, staring down at the foyer of the manor where the limbs of a half-dressed man moved in and out of the room as muscular arms tensed and relaxed, hurling the man up to the bar fixed into the doorframe. He relaxed his arms and lowered his body, limbs swinging into the foyer.

Seams of muscles rippled beneath his golden skin as the black swirls of his tattoo moved hypnotically.

Derek.

The man dropped away from the doorframe and braced himself against the floor. He tensed the muscles of his bare torso and pushed himself up off the ground, balancing his weight on his open palms. Small beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. Defined glistening gems of precipitation rolled over his shoulder blades and down the curves of his firm biceps. He was soaked and Stiles could smell it, every single drop—bitter, primitive and alluring.

Derek seemed to notice the presence of the onlooker, lifting himself up to his feet and casting emotionless eyes towards the boy.

“Morning,” he greeted, nonchalantly.

Stiles stared at him. His coffee brown eyes darted between the man, the doorframe and the ground. “Do you do that every morning?”

Derek nodded ad turned away. He stalked across the foyer and towards the dining room and kitchen. Stiles hurried after him.

“The, uh, triskelion,” he muttered, pointing at the three thick black swirls on man’s back. “It’s used in Christianity to represent the holy trinity; the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Past, present and future. Mother, father and child.”

“Alpha, beta, omega,” Derek added.

“It’s also the Celtic symbol for protection,” Stiles continued.

“It’s also the symbol of my family,” Derek called over his shoulder.

“So, you’re the protectors?” Stiles whispered softly.

Derek looked at him. “We try.” He glanced around the room, eyes rolling over the patches of charred wood and ash trails, reminiscent and almost ashamed. “Although, sometimes...”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Stiles reassured him, his voice a soft whisper.

“You must be hungry,” Derek abruptly changed the conversation topic as he crossed the kitchen and moved towards the once-white cupboards, pulling open the few doors which remained fastened to their rusting hinges. He drew out a cup and quickly filled it with water before downing it.

Stiles hummed, watching the bob of Derek’s Adam’s apple, mesmerised by the man and unsure of whether or not the knot in his stomach was because of hunger or something else. He shook his head, stirring himself from his stupor as he forced his eyes to look across the small ash-stained, off-green counters which encircled the room.

Stiles had never really noticed before that there were scattered signs of history and new life mingling among the ruins. There was furniture – new and restored – walls with patches of paint and strips of plastering. Mixed-matched plates and cups which had been collected over the years littered the benchtops. The staircase and floor had patches of fresh pile panels fitted to fill the gaping holes.

Small sections of repairs and renovations.

The space between Stiles and Derek was divided by a thick oak table, the heavy top resting on four narrow, slightly-charred legs. It seemed out of place, an antique; too meaningful and expensive to have been left to rot with the skeleton of the house. The smooth surface was chipped, stained and scarred, where knives had slipped, drinks had been spilt and hot pans and dishes had been left to sit for too long.

“Do you want to hunt?”

The voice shocked him. The question even more so. “What?”

“Do you want to hunt?” Derek repeated calmly, as if it were the most normal question.

“N-no,” Stiles sputtered. “No.”

Derek looked him up and down, eyebrows raised slightly. “You vegetarian?”

“No. I just don’t want to hunt.”

“Okay,” he replied softly. “I was just asking.” He set the glass down on the counter and strutted over to the fridge. He bent over and rifled through the contents of the fridge, speaking over clunking plastic containers and clinking glasses. “Pancakes okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, eyes drawn to the arch of Derek’s spine, and even more so to the beta’s firm ass as the tight black jeans clung to his curves.

He forced himself to pull his eyes away, staring at anything and everything else as he tried to slow his spiked heartbeat.

Derek rattled about with pans and ingredients, cooking and plating up the meal rather quickly.

“Um…” Stiles stopped himself, fidgeting in the open doorway of the kitchen.

Derek turned. He tilted his head and raised his brow urging Stiles to continue.

Stiles looked over at the window, desperately avoiding Derek’s crisp gaze. “I… uh… Last night...”

“You were disorientated.” Derek nodded. “That’ll happen for a few days and some of full moons. You’ll be okay.”

Stiles dropped his eyes to his feet, gently scuffing the tiles and stirring the dust.

“Trust me.”


	6. Chapter Six

Derek hammered another nail into place, watching the thin iron tear through the flesh of the wooden plank and lodge itself in the side of the house.

He tried to keep himself busy, trying not to think about how long it had been since Stiles had called, texted or talked to him. He was worried about the boy, scared about whether he would be okay on his own or not. He knew he shouldn’t worry so much. He knew Stiles would call him if something was wrong, but that didn’t stop the nagging voices at the back of his head.

He lifted another panel of wood, aligning it with the rest of the panels on the outside of the house before positioning the nail.

It looked awkward, a pale strip of fresh pine standing out against the charred and withered grey panels.

Derek was stirred by the sound of a rumbling engine and the crunch of leaves as a car rolled to a stop. The noise fell silent.

Derek returned his attention to the wood before him. He brought the head of the hammer down on the nail, thumping it into place. Two thuds rattled through the air as Derek thumped the nails into place.

Scott sprinted around the corner of the house, dark hair ruffled and brown eyes wide with worry.

“Please tell me Stiles is here,” he panted.

Derek set down the hammer. “What?”

“Is Stiles here?” Scott repeated.

“Why?”

Sheriff Stilinski stepped around the edge of the house, his creased brow narrowed and arms folded across his chest. “He’s either here or missing. Which is it?”

“He’s not here,” Derek replied. “I haven’t seen him all week.”

“Then where is he?” Sheriff Stilinski growled.

“I don’t know,” Derek replied.

Stilinski threw his arms in the air. “The sun’s going down, the temperature’s dropping and tonight’s predicted to be the coldest night on record. Where is he?” he barked.

“He said something about going to see someone, but his car’s at home and he’s nowhere to be found,” Scott explained. “I thought he’d be here.”

The teen looked at Derek as if begging the man to tell him that Stiles was sitting inside the house and hiding from the world.

“He’s not here. I’ve grown up in these woods, I’ll take a run and see if I can find him. Scott, you go with the Sheriff and call me if you find him,” Derek instructed. He waited for the Sheriff to walk back towards the car before grabbing Scott’s arm. “If you find him, call me, and just be ready for anything, got it?”

Scott nodded.

Derek retrieved his jacket from the balcony railing. He shrugged it onto his shoulders and watched as the Sheriff reversed the patrol car and drove off. He bounced off the balcony and onto the cushion of rotting leaves. He braced himself against the ground, feeling the instinctual tension build in his muscles. His vision flickered blue. He dug his nails in the ground and pushed off, tore into the dark forest.

He raced through brambles and foliage. He wove between trunks and bushes. He leapt over roots, undergrowth and rustling leaves. He tracked across the terrain, returning to his house with no sign of Stiles.

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. No word from Scott.

He bit his lip and tapped the back of his phone against his hand.

_‘Going to see someone’_.

He tossed the words through his head, trying to work out what he meant. A nagging feeling lingered at the back of his mind.

He hurried inside and grabbed his keys off the small table beside the staircase. He slid into his car and revved the engine, spinning the soft leather steering wheel and speeding down the drive and onto the road leading into town. He tapped at the steering wheel, eyes intently focused on the road as the car devoured stretches of roads and roared across the country side. He pulled up in town, turning left at the lights and trailing around the edge of town. He pulled the car up to the curb and got out, stepping past the rusting cold iron gates of the cemetery.

He slowly walked up the path, passing hundreds of solid headstones. He made his way towards the area of more recent burials. He looked across the row, his heart skipping beats and pounding faster and faster as he searched for the boy.

He stopped, shoulders dropping at the sight of a small figure curled up at the foot of a grave.

He walked slowly across the row, making his way to the boy’s side. He knelt down on the damp grass shrugging off his jacket and laying it across the boy’s shoulders.

Stiles didn’t move. His dark lashes fluttered with sleep as he lay curled up on the grass.

Derek looked from the boy to the grave, reading the epitaph engraved in the solid grey stone.

 

_In Loving Memory of_

CLAUDIA STILINSKI

_Adored wife, loving mother and treasured friend._

_Forever in our hearts._

 

Derek sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket again, dialling Scott. He lifted the phone to his ear, not taking his eyes off the boy.

“Derek?” the boy answered eagerly.

“I found him,” Derek replied calmly.

“Where is he?” Stilinski asked, obviously on loud speaker.

“Beacon Hills Cemetery.” He sighed. “At his mother’s grave.” He paused, listening to the hanging silence between Scott and the Sheriff. “I’ll take him home.”

“Okay, I’ll drop Scott home and meet you there,” Stilinski said, tension in his voice.

Scott hung up and Derek shoved his phone back into his pocket.

Derek slid his arm under the boy’s knees and around his shoulders, lifting him up against his chest and carrying him back to the car. He set him down in the passenger seat and buckled him in.

He brushed his fingers against the boy’s freckled cheek, feeling how cold he was. The boy trembled in his thin red hoodie.

“Oh, pup,” Derek whispered sorrowfully.

 

#

 

Stilinski listened to the rumbling engine of the car as it pulled up before his house. He hurried to the door, watching as Derek gently lifted Stiles out of the passenger seat and carried him across the front lawn.

Derek glanced up, noticing how worry and fear had dragged Stilinski’s face, filling his eyes with shadows and aging him beyond his years.

“Upstairs, second on the right,” Stilinski instructed, stepping aside and nodding him inside.

Derek nodded and carried the boy upstairs. He nudged open the bedroom door and laid the boy down on his bed. He took his shoes off and pulled the blankets up over his shoulders.

He stepped back and shut the door behind himself, heading back towards the front door. Stilinski met him at the bottom of the stairs, staring off into the distance as if he could find comfort in oblivion.

“Thank you, Derek,” he whispered, offering him a weak but genuine smile.

Derek nodded and left. He clambered into his car pulling away from the curb. It was only when he stopped at a red light did he let his composure fracture. He dropped his head against the steering wheel, feeling his stomach churn with anxiety and guilt. His eyes stung with tears as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter Seven

Stiles stirred, disturbed by his alarm as he found himself in the familiar space of his bedroom. Surrounding him were four cool blue and grey walls decorated by scattered photos and posters, the occasional note or coloured string connecting the pieced of paper like an investigation board. Across from him was a thick wooden desk, covered in piles of printed worksheets, homework and textbooks, pens buried between sedimentary layers of paper.

_How’d I get back home?_

He sat upright and glanced down at the rustling fabric which dropped around his waist. He noticed the smooth black leather jacket which fluttered among the sheets. He pulled it free of the rippling cotton blanket and lifted it to his nose and inhaled the distinct scent; a warm musk of primal sweat, sweetened by the lingering smell of pines and birch trees. Derek.

He hugged it to his chest, slowly and reluctantly dragging himself out of bed. He showered and dressed. He picked up his books and homework and hurried downstairs, setting the books and the jacket down by the front door, remembering that his bag was still in his Jeep. He quickly scurried into the kitchen and rifled through the cupboards for food.

“Stiles,” his father called softly.

“Sorry, Dad, I’m going to be late for school.” Stiles stopped the conversation before it even began, collecting a fruit bar and juice box as he made his way towards the open doorway.

“Stiles,” his father said, a little firmer this time. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles dismissed.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

“Dad, I’m fine.” Stiles turned and looked at his father.

The old man didn’t budge. “Then what happened yesterday?”

“I-” He stopped. Tears gleamed in his eyes. He inhaled deeply and bit his lip. He couldn’t lie. His voice screeched and croaked as he muttered, “I miss her.”

Sheriff Stilinski stepped forward, pulling his son into his arms. He gently pressed a kiss against the top of the boy’s head.

“Me too, kiddo,” he whispered. “Me too.”

 

#

 

Stiles was quiet during school, focusing on taking notes and only answering questions when he was called upon. He knew Scott was staring at him, but he felt too distant – too isolated – to care.

The bell for lunch rang and he left with the streaming crowd of students. He returned his books to his locker, pushing a couple of textbooks and worksheets into his bag.

Scott slid to a halt beside him, leaning against the grey locker to get a good look at his friend.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” Stiles lied.

Scott leant forward, blocking Stiles’ locker. “Dude, I’ve known you for years. I can tell when you’re lying.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles repeated.

Allison skipped up to their sides, clinging onto Scott’s shoulder as she nearly slipped on the polished linoleum. She giggled and steadied herself.

Stiles was glad for the interruption, even more so for her soft laugh and gentle smile.

“Are you guys still on for tonight?” she asked.

Stiles knitted his brow. “Tonight?”

“Yeah.” She looked a little confused, but smiled. “The movies. You, me, Scott, Lydia and Jackson,” she reminded him.

“Oh, right,” Stiles muttered. “Raincheck for me?”

Scott tilted his head and narrowed his eyes and Allison almost looked sad as she said, “Alright.” She turned her attention to Scott. “You still in?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up later.” He smiled and gave her a quick kiss.

Stiles felt his stomach twist with what seemed to be jealousy. He turned his eyes away from his friend, swallowing hard against the pain of his churning gut. He felt his throat clench and his jaw tighten as he continued to shove his homework into his bag.

Scott smiled at Allison as she waved goodbye as Lydia caught her arm and walked away with her.

He turned back to Stiles, smile falling and glittering eyes becoming sad.

Stiles silenced Scott before he had the chance to ask, stating, “I have to go and see Derek. To drop back his jacket.”

“That still gives you plenty of time to get back for the movies,” Scott proposed. “Come on, man, just relax a bit.”

“Scott-”

“Come on,” he begged. “Don’t leave me with Jackson.” He blinked rapidly and pouted.

“Don’t do the puppy eyes,” Stiles begged.

“Please, Stiles,” Scott whined.

“Okay, fine,” Stiles hissed. “ _Maybe_.”

Scott perked up, straightening his back and grabbing his friend by his shoulders.

Stiles stayed still, staring at the shadows of his locker.

 

#

 

Stiles pulled up at the Hale house. He turned off the Jeep’s engine and pulled the leather jacket out of his bag. He paused for a second, holding the smooth, worn leather in his hands. He stepped out of the car and cautiously walked up to the front door, rapping his knuckles against the withered wood.

The hinges creaked as the door opened to reveal Derek’s solid form. His cool eyes rolled over Stiles’ slender form, expression unreadable.

The boy offered a weak smile.

“I brought you back your jacket,” he said softly, unable to break eye contact as he handed it over.

“Thanks.” Derek took it from him gratefully. His voice was soft as he asked, “Are you okay, pup?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, dropping his eyes to the ground.

“Try again and this time, look me in the eye,” Derek instructed.

Stiles sighed. “I can’t,” Stiles admitted. “I can’t lie to your face.”

Derek’s eyes softened. “Then don’t lie.”

“I _have_ to,” Stiles snapped. “Because if I lie enough then eventually I’ll start believing it.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Derek whispered.

“You want the truth?” Stiles reared back, eyes gleaming with tears. “I hate my life. I hate _living_. I hate having people worry about me. I hate being alone and drowning in all this shit. I hate what I’ve become and everything I am. I hate that that the only thing I can remember of my mother is that she thought I was trying to kill her. I hate that I’m slowly becoming the monster she thought I was. I hate that I’ll never be able to prove her wrong. And I hate the fact that I’m never going to see her again to tell her that I love her!” Stiles bit his lip and span around. He stalked over to his car.

“Stiles,” Derek called, his voice rooting the boy to the ground. “You’re not alone.”

Stiles rubbed at his tear-streaked face with the sleeve of his jacket and slowly turned back towards Derek.

Derek nodded towards the house. “Come on, I’ll make dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	8. Chapter Eight

Red.

It was all red.

Stiles laid on his back, unable to move his limbs as the room slowly filled with liquid, the trickling ooze enveloping his limbs inch by inch.

Ruby red blood coated his body like a second skin made of liquid.

Droplets rose around him, distinct gleaming gems of red liquid rising from the ground to the roof.

He couldn’t turn his head, but he glanced out the corner of his eye, watching as the glistening liquid reflected the bright glow of his eyes. The bright yellow irises flickered black, sparking like a dark streak of lightning as the glowing depths melted into a vibrant shade of blue.

Beta.

He felt his chest rise with the tide of warm liquid. His fingers floated to the surface, bushing against something solid. He didn’t have to look, he knew what it was.

A body.

Many bodies.

The bodies of the people he loved.

Allison.

Scott.

Melissa.

His dad.

Their horrified expressions and pain-filled faces were still burnt into his retinas.

They lay in the pool of blood with him, torn flesh and disfigured limbs cast aside as they swirled with the brewing tide.

He wavered on the rippling pool of plasma, feeling weightless as the cool air rolled over his dampened fingertips. The heat seeped through his clothes, caressing his smooth skin.

He opened his eyes, lifting his gaze to stare at the wolf with blue eyes that mirrored his.

Derek.

The large black wolf stood hunched over him, ruffled fur clumped with blood and snout millimetres from his face. The beast snarled at the boy.

Stiles returned the snarl with a cool glare. “You said you’d stop me. Where were you when I needed you?”

Stiles reached up, feeling his hand tear through layers of fur and tissue as he tore open Derek’s chest. The soft fur drew back as his thick coat morphed back into his golden skin. The seams of muscles tightened around Stiles’ fingers as streams of blood trickled across the boy’s hand.

Derek’s heart throbbed, weak palpitations pushing against Stiles’ palm as it made one last try to keep the man alive.

Every drop that fell from the man’s body rose around them, splashing against the unseen ceiling and dissipating into the brewing rippling crimson cloud.

The blue eyes flickered and faced back to the shimmering green depths. The gleaming peridot irises glazed over, eyes wide as he fell weak, collapsing atop Stiles.

He was cold, lifeless, his weight bearing down on the boy as it pushed him beneath the surface of the swirling blood. The pool pulled shut above him, enveloping him in a whirlpool of hot, sticky blood.

He held his breath, feeling the carbon dioxide burn at the tissue of his lungs until he was forced to let go. He watched the bubbles ride to the surface, taking with them his strangled screams as the thick blood seeped into his mouth, clogged his throat, and suffocated him.

The blue glimmer of his eyes was reflected back at him.

He was the monster, alone and drowning.

Stiles leapt upright, flailing about in the mess of soggy leaves and damp bark as if bursting through the surface of water. His scream tore open his throat and emptied his lungs and he kicked about and shoved bunches of leaves and detritus away from him.

Breathless, he fell silent, breathing deeply as the world slowed and flashes of colour blinded him. He tried to steady his breathing.

The cold night air rolled through him. His trembling hands fumbled with the dulled red fabric of his hoodie, zipping up the thin jacket as he curled his knees up to his chest and hugged himself.

_Someone will come_ , he told himself as he laid back against the thick tree trunk.

The shadows shifted, morphing into a human figure which walked – no, ran – towards him.

Stiles wheeled back, feet thrashing against the ground and the skin of his hands tearing as he shoved himself back against tree. The rough bark of the thick roots shredded his palms. Streams of blood seeped into the grains of the wood, gushing through the channels and tainting the sweet scent of the earth with the bitter scent of iron.

His spine thumped against the trunk.

He couldn’t escape.

The silhouette closed in on him, stopping by his feet.

The thin moonlight lit up the man’s face. The pale skin and light beard. The curve of his mouth and playful glimmer in his eye as he smirked.

“Does this make you Little Red then?” Derek teased, gently nudging the boy’s leg with his boot.

Stiles felt his limbs tremor, tension burning in his muscles.

“Where am I?” Stiles whimpered.

“A little bit off the hiking track, not too far from my place,” Derek announced, turning his head and looking around. The playfulness faded as he added, “Close enough for me to hear you scream.”

“How’d I get here?” Stiles muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

“My guess, sleepwalking.” Derek offered the boy his hand. “Come on, pup. Let’s get you home.”

Stiles lifted his trembling hand before his face, watching as the torn flesh of his palm stitched shut. He curled his fingers over the new skin, lifting them one by one.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

Not dreaming.

He exhaled heavily, slowly reaching out to Derek’s extended hand. He slid his hand into the man’s warm touch, his grasp gentle and welcoming as he helped the boy up to his feet.

Stiles’ knees buckled beneath him.

Derek caught him by his waist, swiftly pulling him into his arms.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low but soft.

Stiles was silent.

Derek shifted his grip, pulling the boy’s thighs up to his waist. He wrapped his arm around Stiles’ waist and pulled the boy close against his chest. Stiles coiled his arms around Derek’s shoulders and grabbed at his jacket, burying his face in the curve of Derek’s neck, feeling the man’s even pulse push back against his skin. A calm even beat that proved he was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	9. Chapter Nine

Warm hands trailed up Stiles’ sides, fingers running across the ridges of his ribs, up his chest and along his biceps, pinning his arms above his head. Soft lips latched onto his throat, gently kissing and sucking at the pale skin. Smooth teeth gently grazed his jugular, nipping at the flesh as they made his way up to his jaw. The warm breath made him shiver as it rolled across his freckled skin. The soft kisses returned, trailing along his jaw and seeking out the scattered moles on his face. He sighed heavily, gasping as their hips ground against each other. He dug his nails into the firm bicep, eliciting a low growl from the man as he buckled his hips in response.

“More,” he gasped, crotch throbbing.

“Stiles,” a familiar voice groaned. Soft lips latched onto his earlobe, making him hiss and gasp. His hips arched off the mattress only to be thrust back down among the sheets by a firm hand. The warm lips drew back to whisper in his ear. “Be patient, pup.”

Stiles moaned, longing the touch, the warmth. He whimpered a name; the name which caught at the back of his throat as he whimpered but rolled off his tongue with an impatient sensual whine.

“Derek.”

Stiles jerked awake, tossing aside the sheets as he leapt out of his bed.

He quickly looked around.

Yep, his bed. His room. And no Derek.

He tried to slow his breathing and ignore his throbbing erection as he glanced down at the bright red digits of his alarm clock.

_Half an hour until I have to get ready for school_.

He grabbed a handful of clothes and darted to the bathroom. He shut the door behind himself and slid the latch into place. He quickly turned the shower on and waited for the cold water to rattle through the pipes. He stripped off the pair of loose-fitting grey sweatpants that he called his pyjamas and his dad’s old tee-shirt. He dumped them in the washing basket.

_They need a wash anyway_ , he told himself.

He drew in a breath and looked down at the mess of his boxers. He slowly peeled the sticky cotton away from his skin, sliding the trunks down his legs and into the basket.

He glanced down at his naked body. He was slick with precum and still half hard.

He shook his head and climbed into the shower. He shivered beneath the cold water which slapped his back.

_I did not just have a wet dream about Derek Hale_ , he told himself, feeling his stomach tighten and his erection bob at the thought of Derek. _I did not dream of Derek. Nope._

“Shit,” he hissed.

He turned the hot water up and evened the temperature out. He turned and braced his forearm against the tiles. He shut his eyes and tried to recall the dream. He could see it perfectly clear, Derek’s sculpted abs brushing against Stiles’ thin stomach. His whiskers tickling Stiles’ throat as he craned his neck and devoured patches of skin with kisses.

Stiles lowered his hand to his cock, gasping at his own touch. He was sensitive, over stimulated. He buckled into his hand, gripping tight at the base as he worked his hand up and down the shaft.

He imagined Derek’s soft lips wound around his cock, head bobbing as he took the length into the back of his throat.

Stiles threw his head back, biting his lips shut to stop himself from crying out.

He felt the ghostly trails of Derek’s hands as they caressed every inch of his body, the tip of his finger connecting his scattered freckles and mapping our constellations across his moonlight pale skin.

He moved his hand faster, pressing his forehead against the cool tiles and biting into the flesh of his forearm.

He huffed rugged breaths, feeling his stomach tense as he drew closer to his climax.

_Derek_ , he thought, imagining the man groaning against his cock as he sped up the pace. Bright blue eyes flicked up to meet his, lustrous and hungry as he licked at the head of Stiles’ cock before sinking down over it again. _Derek._

It pushed him over the edge. His hips buckled into his grasp as warm cum spilt over his hand. His knees trembled as he collapsed against the wall. He struggled to hold himself up as his knees trembled and his head span.

He stood still for a while, warm water rolling over his skin as he slowly regained his senses.

He quickly washed himself off and got out of the shower. He dressed and walked back into his room. He stuffed his homework and textbooks into his bag.

_That did not just happen,_ he tried to convince himself. _I did not have a wet dream and I did not just jerk off to thoughts of Derek._

He hurried out of his room, stopping just short of the staircase. He turned his eyes back to the bathroom. Setting his bag down, he scurried back to the small room and grabbed the basket. He carried it into the laundry and emptied its contents into the washing machine and turned it on. He retrieved his bag and continued to get ready for school.

_Nothing happened. Today is just like any other day._ He sighed. There was no point in lying to himself. _Except I’m a newly turned omega with the hots for Derek Hale… Fuck._

 

#

 

Stiles tapped the end of his pen against the blank page of his notebook. His eyes were fixed on the faint blue lines on the unmarked paper. His mind was scattered with ungraspable thoughts.

He glanced up at Allison, who nibbled at the tip of her pen, tapping the lid against the corner of her mouth as she ran her eyes across the lines of words in her textbook.

“Hey, Allison,” Stiles whispered.

She lifted her head, bright eyes looking at him from across the table. “Hmm?”

“Do you love Scott?”

She smiled, a small blush working its way into her cheeks. “Of course.”

He leant forward, bracing his elbows against the table and staring at her intently. “How do you know?”

She frowned slightly, looking at Stiles inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

“How do you know it’s love and not just a crush or an overdose of oxytocin and dopamine from starting a relationship?”

She sat back, thinking for a moment. “Well… I used to think that love was feeling like you cannot breathe until you’re with them, but now I guess I see love as knowing that they’ll be there when you need to draw breath.”

“Well, shit,” Stiles huffed, slouching back in his chair. He ran his fingers through the mess of his hair.

“What?” Allison asked, a little worried.

Stiles shrugged. “I’m in love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no regrets :)
> 
> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	10. Chapter Ten

He was glad to have his car back, no longer damaged and more loved than ever. The blood which had apparently been sprayed over the cabin had been cleaned, the leather seats had been scrubbed and refurbished, the dull blue bonnet had been bent back into the right shape and washed, and the smell of wet dog and fast food had been cleared out – the last of which he would probably change by the end of the week.

He was calmed by the familiar rumble of the engine, feeling at peace as he turned off the town roads and drove towards the Hale manor.

As Stiles pulled up at Derek’s house he felt his stomach twist and churn.

Something was wrong.

He bounced out of his Jeep, looking around the tree line as he edged towards the house.

It felt as if someone was watching.

He scurried over to the balcony, noticing the thick red smears of blood across the front of the house.

THE OMEGA IS MINE.

A body was slumped against the frame of the front door.

“Derek?” he whispered, taking a step closer to the man.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to run.

But he couldn’t turn away from the man. His chocolate eyes were locked on the jagged gashes of torn flesh that exposed bloody muscle and bone.

Stiles crept closer, fearful that the man may be dead.

He watched Derek’s chest rise and fall slightly with a weak breath.

“Derek?” he called a little louder.

Derek groaned, his head moving slightly as he stirred. His eyes fluttered open.

Stiles dropped to his side.

“What happened?” he gasped, pressing his hands against Derek’s bleeding wounds.

“Alpha,” he groaned.

Stiles felt his blood run cold. “You fought the alpha?!”

“And beta,” he added, head rocking against the doorframe.

“Beta? What beta?

“Help me inside?” he groaned, abruptly changing the subject.

Stiles nodded, sliding his arms around the man and lifting his weight up to his feet. He practically dragged the man inside, laying him down on the couch before fetching a First Aid kit from the bathroom cupboard upstairs. He returned to Derek’s side, sliding the fabric of his shirt up his chest.

His nimble fingers ran over the man’s curved muscles, making quick work of pressing gauzes into place and winding bandages around him.

Stiles slowly lowered his trembling body to the floor, tilting the back of his skull against the edge of the cushion. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder at Derek, trying to ignore the thick scent of sweat, musk, wood and sweet rain, tainted by the metallic tang of blood.

“Why aren’t you healing?”

“Alpha wounds… take longer to heal,” Derek grumbled.

Stiles turned his coffee brown eyes away from the man, focusing on the withering panels of plaster that lined the brick outline of what used the be a centrepiece fireplace. He leant back against the edge of the couch and listened to the man’s breathing.

Derek reached forward, his fingertips tussling Stiles’ ruffled hair.

The boy tilted his head, pulling away from Derek’s touch as his eyes filled with hot tears.

“Stiles?” Derek whispered.

Stiles buried his face in his hands. “I can’t believe you did this.”

Derek shuffled about on the couch, trying to roll onto his side and look at the boy. “I promised I’d help you. This is me helping you.”

Stiles leapt to his feet, waving his hands and pointing at Derek’s blood-soaked bandages. “This is you dying for me! I don’t want that. I never asked for that!”

Derek propped himself up on his elbow, looking at Stiles with a composed expression. “I promised I’d keep you safe. I promised I’d keep the alpha away from you. And if I have to die in order to do that, then so be it,” he said with finality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	11. Chapter Eleven

Stiles drove in silence, fingers tapping impatiently against the worn leather of the steering wheel. He had turned the radio off not long after pulling out of the school carpark, too irritated to find the right song or station and settled for the calming rumble of his Jeep’s engine.

He turned off the road and down an old beaten track. A plume of dust swirled around his car as he made his way deeper into the forest and onto the private property.

Pulling up before the burnt ruins of the large house, he felt his heart flutter. He parked the Jeep and jumped out onto the crackling cushion of gold and orange leaves. He slowly walked around the car, struggling to take his eyes off the house. How had he never noticed how incredible it looked? Like something out of a gothic horror story, with charred black wood and brick framing it. A few askew planks had fallen through from the balconies on the floors above, but the building still held its structure. A few stray cobwebs clung to the arches and woodwork.

A loud crack spilt the air.

Stiles flinched, crouching down and shielding himself as he span around to find the noise. He heard the clunk of wood being tossed into a pile.

Cautiously he stepped around the side of the house, spotting Derek as he hurled the axe over his head and down over another block of wood with a heavy thump. His eyes were fixed on the man, watching his muscles flex beneath his tight grey shirt, rippling with every movement.

He tugged the axe free of the stump and swung the again, the blade splitting the log in two. Pulling apart the splintered halves, he tossed them into the pile, noticing Stiles. Derek straightened and turned towards the boy.

Stiles stepped forward, spurred by the man’s attention. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he replied, nonchalantly. He lifted the axe half-heartedly and stuck it into the large stump he used as a chopping block. He dusted off his hands and turned back to Stiles.

“It’s not werewolf related,” Stiles added, pulling his hands out of his pockets and waving them about seemingly defensively.

Derek raised his brow.

Stiles rolled his shoulders and fluttered his hands he spoke. “Um, I have a history project to do. We have to investigate and write a report on the history of old buildings in the town and I was wondering whether it’d be okay if I wrote my paper on your house?” Derek didn’t respond. Stiles shifted awkwardly on his feet, jerking his thumb back towards the Jeep. “I mean, it’s totally cool if you say no, I’ll just find something else.” He span around and stumbled back towards his car.

“Stiles.” Derek’s gruff voice grounded him. “It’s okay.”

Stiles twirled back around. “Really?”

“Come on.” He nodded towards the old building. “I’ll see if I can find any photos that survived the fire.”

 

#

 

Stiles sat at the large dining table. He scrawled the tip of his pen across his notebook, taking notes as Derek told him all about the history of his house and his family. It took every ounce of restraint Stiles had in him not to just sit and listen to Derek talk. He glanced up, watching Derek’s eyes glimmer as he looked fondly at the old photograph in his hands.

The house looked so different, so beautiful. The wood wasn’t charred but vanished and wavered between tones of brown and red, the window sills and archways on the doors and balcony painted vibrantly white. The only thing that was black on the house was the tiled roof and the painted window shutters. A small garden patch ran along the balcony, scattered bushes and low lying plants.

Derek’s hands trembled as he held the edges of the photograph. Stiles knew that expression all too well, the mix of guilt and pain.

“It wasn’t your fault, Derek,” Stiles whispered.

“Wasn’t it?” he asked, eyes flashing up to Stiles’ face. He dropped the photo against the tabletop. “The police think it was me. Everyone in town thinks it was me.”

“I don’t.”

He shook his head. “Then why do I feel like I’m the one to blame?”

“That’s survivor’s guilt,” Stiles mumbled. “You feel bad because you came out of a traumatic even unscathed when others have been seriously injured or killed.”

Derek was silent for a moment. “I wish I had died in that fire with everyone else,” he muttered under his breath.

“If it makes any difference,” Stiles muttered. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

 

#

 

A few days of research, sleepless nights, drafted essays and spell checks left Stiles with a completed report which Derek poured himself over. They sat at the thick oak table at Derek’s house. Stiles waiting as patiently as he could as he watched Derek’s cool hazel eyes roll over the pages of thick black text.

Derek reached for his beer, wrapping his hand around the condensation-soaked bottle before lifting it to his lips, taking a swig and setting it back down on the table again, all without taking his eyes off the paper. He rubbed his fingers against the scruff of his whiskers half-heartedly in thought. He turned the last page and quickly read through the final few sentences. Finished, he laid the paper down on the tabletop and slid it across to Stiles who shifted anxiously in the seat beside him.

Stiles glanced from the paper to Derek, his breath snagged in his throat.

Derek looked at him, eyes sparking as he spoke. “Perfect.”

Stiles’ breath fell from his lips in a relieved sigh. He smiled, looking back to his work. As he turned back to Derek, he realised just how close they were.

His eyes were drawn to the soft smile that turned up the corners of the Derek’s mouth, mesmerised by how plump and inviting his lips seemed, how they moved ever so slightly with his breath. He couldn’t help but think of the dream, of how plush and warm those lips were against his skin.

His eyes flittered up to meet Derek’s intense gaze, watching as the dark pupils consumed his clear glistening irises.

Stiles clenched his hand beneath the table, fingers dragging at his jeans as he balled his fist. His other hand slid up to the back of Derek’s neck as he threaded his fingers through the cropped black hair and brought their lips together.

Flashes of colour blinded him.

Blistering heat tore through him, seeping into his veins at every point of contact.

Derek’s lips were better than Stiles had ever imagined; plump, sweet and as smooth as velvet. Perfect.

He felt his heartbeat rise to his throat, strangling him. His lungs burnt, desperate for air. The hand at the base of Derek’s neck began to tremble.

His skin burnt from feeling of Derek’s body heat but tingled from the lack of warmth at the same time.

That’s when it hit him; Derek wasn’t moving. He wasn’t leaning forward or kissing back.

Stiles drew back, stomach knotted and bubbling.

Derek’s face came into focus, his expression completely unreadable. Blank. Void.

He wasn’t reacting in any way.

Stiles felt his shoulders shudder. The air around him fell still, dead and cold. No matter how much he drew in, the oxygen never reached his blood. His chest sank as an indescribable weight tore at the tissue of his lungs.

“I-uh-” Stiles croaked, lips trembling around unformed words. He shoved back the chair with the underside of his knees. “I’d better go.”

He stumbled as he raced around the edge of the table, collecting his paper and bag with quivering hands. He raced out of the house and clambered into his Jeep, tossing his bag aside and quickly twisting the key. The engine sputtered and roared to life. Wheels whirred and span against littered leaves as the Jeep reversed and sped off towards the road.

He drove; numb and moving by habit.

He heaved in a strangled gasp, feeling the icy autumn air fill his lungs. He felt his breathing slowly return to normal, his hands stopped trembling and his grip on the steering wheel weakened as a deep seated swirl of nausea set in. He felt his stomach churn as his thoughts began to spin and whirl.

He drew up to the curb in front of his house. He parked the car and dropped his forehead to the worn leather of the wheel, groaning weakly.

“Shit,” he hissed. He threw his head back and collapsed against the seat, dragging his hands across his face. “I screwed up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	12. Chapter Twelve

Stiles flinched as the final bell rang. Chairs scraped against the linoleum, making him cringe. He tried to force himself to relax, to breathe easy and release the burning tension in his muscles.

He kept his eyes on the ground, following Scott’s heels as they trailed through the crowded corridor towards their lockers.

“Stiles.” Scott tilted his head to look at his friend with deepening concern. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles lied. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’ve been pretty quiet today and you walked to school this morning.”

“I needed the exercise. Got to keep fit.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “Dude, I know you’re lying.”

Stiles sighed, turning away from the accusing glare. “I just needed time to think.”

“Everything okay?” Scott asked, his voice soft but tense.

“Yeah, I’m just… I’m just a stupid kid who acted out on a pathetic teenage crush that I thought could be something more. Wait, you’re an expert at failing romances.” Stiles quickly tossed his books in his bag and shrugged it onto his shoulder. Leaning against his locker, he continued, “What do you do when you kiss someone and they don’t kiss you back?”

Scott shrugged, lifting his own bag and shutting his locker. They waited for the crowd to dissipate, before following the waves of shouts and chatter which flowed into the courtyard. Stiles tugged at the straps of his bag, eyes locked on the speckled concrete as they walked.

“So, what are you doing tonight?” Scott asked as he stepped across the crowded front lawn of the school yard. He glanced back at Stiles.

“I will be in my room contemplating ever mistake I’ve ever made while constructing the best pillow fort in the world. You?”

“I’ve got a date with Allison.” Scott smiled.

Stiles looked up across the parking lot, spotting the brunette before he friend. “And doe-eyed-Scott in three, two, one.”

Scott turned, eyes sparkling and goofy grin spreading as he caught sight of Allison. He quickly turned back to Stiles, smile fading.

“Go,” Stiles instructed.

“We’ll talk later,” Scott called over his shoulder as he sprinted down the stairs and over to the girl, laying a soft kiss on her lips.

“Sure,” Stiles whispered to himself. “Whatever.”

He drew his eyes away from the couple, feeling his stomach knot with a ping of jealousy. But that small know turned into a swirling sea of panic as he caught sight of a dark figure across the parking lot. His strong form was slouched back against the sleek black body of his car. The black leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders, rippling over his folded arms. Cool, predatory eyes were locked onto Stiles.

Derek rose to his feet, nodding towards the car before moving around and sliding into the driver’s seat.

“I am so dead,” Stiles uttered to himself as he crossed the parking lot and climbed into the passenger seat.

He didn’t look at Derek. He kept his eyes out the window as Derek revved the engine and glided out of the parking lot. Slowly, Stiles felt himself relax, sinking into the plush seats as the purr of the engine rumbled through his chest.

 

#

 

The car pulled up before the large house.

Stiles swallowed hard as he stepped out into the cool autumn air, dragging his backpack with him. He dropped it beside the doorway as he stepped into the foyer of the manor. He listened for the soft thud as the bag hit the ground and the door shut behind him.

“Are you cold?” Derek asked.

His gruff voice shook Stiles as he turned his attention to the crystal clear eyes which observed him. Stiles looked down at his trembling hand, tensing the muscles in an attempt to still himself. “No,” he replied.

Derek nodded towards the lounge room and Stiles obediently followed. He sat down on the old, faded olive green couch. Derek sat at the other end, turning to face the boy.

“Stiles, we need to talk,” he said gruffly.

“If this is about yesterday,” Stiles interjected, “then I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did. If you want to forget about the whole thing then okay. If you never want to see me again then I’ll walk right out of that door and I won’t bother you ever again.”

Stiles kept his eyes on Derek, scared as he watched the shadows shift across his stern features.

“Did you mean it?” Derek asked softly.

“Which bit?”

“The kiss. Did you mean it?”

Stiles lifted his eyes to Derek’s. “As in do I like you?” _I really like you_. Stiles smiled weakly. He dropped his voice to a whisper as he answered honestly, “Yeah, I meant it.” _I love you_.

“Would you do it again?”

_Yes_. Stiles shifted anxiously. “If you… I mean… I _would_ if you…” He fumbled for words.

“If I agreed to it?” Derek finished.

Stiles bit his lip and nodded.

“Okay. Good,” Derek muttered. Stiles’ eyes flicked back up to the man’s face. Derek sat upright, moving a little closer to Stiles. “How about you try again? And this time, give me a proper kiss.”

Stiles squinted at Derek in disbelief. “What?”

He waited for the man to sit back and laugh, but instead he raised his brow as if to challenge the boy. His peridot eyes glittered with playful amusement as he stared at Stiles. The corners of his lips twitched into what seemed to be a smirk.

Derek rolled his eyes and leant in close. He cupped Stiles’ cheek tilting his head so his lips were millimetres away from the boy’s, his warm breath rolling across Stiles’ lips.

“Like this,” he whispered as he closed the space and drew their lips together.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs as his shoulders dropped. His eyes fluttered shut as he looped his arms around Derek’s neck, desperately clinging to his jacket. Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth. He ran his tongue across Stiles’ bottom lip and moaned as he obediently opened his mouth to welcome Derek’s tongue.

Stiles sighed in return, weaving his fingers into Derek’s hair, pulling soft tufts into his fist as the other hand running down the man’s shoulder, bicep and back. He wanted to feel every inch of skin.

His lungs burnt so much he wanted to cry but he desperately didn’t want to let go. He fell weak in Derek’s arms.

Derek drew back, licking his lips and grinning at Stiles’ euphoric expression.

Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips. He felt Derek chuckle against his mouth as he brought them back together again. He kissed him lightly, drawing away quickly as he craned his neck and placed a trail of kisses across the boy’s cheek, jaw, chin, and neck. He stayed there, gently sucking and nipping at Stiles’ pale skin and moles; brushing his teeth against them just hard enough to make the boy moan and his but not hard enough to leave a mark. He pressed soft kisses against the patches of skin which were marred by the soft impressions of his teeth. His hands slid beneath Stiles’ hoodie, running up the curve of his spine and urging the boy arch to his touch.

Stiles trailed his fingers down to the waistline of Derek’s jeans.

Derek pulled back from the kiss, his hot breath rolling across Stiles’ lips.

“Nuh-uh.”

Stiles whimpered, tugging at his jeans and grinding their hips together.

“Not until you’re eighteen,” he said with finality.

“But that’s only a week away,” Stiles whined.

“As tempting as it is, pup, I’m not going to break the law. Especially with the Sheriff’s son.”

Stiles pouted. “Please?”

“No.”

Before Stiles had the chance to complain, Derek brought their lips together again and silenced him, letting the argument fade away to soft moans and gasps as they melted into the cushions of the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Stiles jolted upright from yet another nightmare. He looked around the room taking a moment to come to terms with where he was. He was in Derek’s room. In Derek’s bed.

He shivered.

The autumn night air rolled through the house. He crept to the edge of the bed, and buried his toes in the soft shag rug. He made is way over to the door and dragged his feet through the house.

As he reached the foyer he stopped, listening to the soft whistle of breathing that came from the lounge room. He slowly walked over to the couch looking down at the man who lay, stretched out across the faded cushions. His eyes fluttered with sleep and his lips were ever so slightly parted for breath.

He looked so peaceful. So vulnerable.

Stiles gently shook him.

His eyes opened and he shook his head, waking up instantly. He looked Stiles over, a little worried. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep,” Stiles sighed, sleep dragging at his voice.

Derek sat up, concerned. “Why not? You alright?”

“Yeah, I just don’t have my pillow. I can’t sleep without it,” Stiles explained, voice quiet and strained. He looked from Derek to the cushions of the couch. “Why are you down here?”

“You took the bed.”

Stiles gently tugged at Derek’s shirt. “It’s cold and I don’t mind sharing.”

“Stiles, I told you I’m not going to sleep with you until you’re eighteen.”

Stiles sighed. “I’m not asking you to fuck me, I’m asking you to come upstairs and _sleep_ with me. I’m not going to let you sleep on the couch.”

Derek reluctantly rose to his feet.

Stiles took his hand and slowly walked him upstairs. He crawled under the blanket and curled up against Derek.

The man seemed scared to touch the boy.

Stiles pushed back against Derek’s chest, feeling his warm abs press against him.

Derek’s arm fell around his waist as he nuzzled his face into the man’s bicep, eyelids weighed down by lethargy as they fell into the dark abyss of sleep.

Derek settled in, spooning the boy, surrounded by the soft blanket. He felt Stiles shiver as the cold rolled over his skin. Derek’s warmth prickled the rising hairs on the boy’s arms as Derek tried to share his warmth the best he could. He wanted to roll over and blanket Stiles with his own warmth but his weight would most likely crush the fragile boy.

Derek felt the soft tufts of Stiles’ hair brush against the muscle of his bicep as he nuzzled into the man’s warmth, his soft, sleepy breath rolling across the smooth skin of his arm.

He tucked Stiles in closer, feeling his heartbeat press against the palm of the hand he held against the boy’s chest. He nestled his face into the curve of the boy’s neck, pressing his nose into the patch of skin behind Stiles’ ear. He inhaled deeply, letting sleep drag at his eyelids and glaze his mind as he realised just how nice the boy smelt; the faint bitter scent of his sweat intermingled with the sweetness of the strawberry shampoo he used, the smell of pine trees which chased after his shadow and the shea butter body wash that clung to his skin.

Stiles shivered and curled up tighter, pulling his knees closer to his chest.

He tried to open his eyes, blinking heavily as he stared into the shadows of the dark bedroom.

He pushed further back against Derek, hoping to find warmth. The man didn’t move, his heavy arm draped around Stiles’ waist.

Stiles reached for his hand, weaving their fingers together and feeling his man’s cold flesh.

He rolled over, turning to look at the beta.

“Derek, why are you so col-”

His voice caught in his throat as he stared down at the corpse, eerily lit in the dull moonlight. His usually peridot green eyes were smoky and glassy, sating lifelessly at him. Derek’s shirt was soaked with blood, fragments of ribs protruding from the hole in his chest. His heart was missing. His blood was cold and dry, flaking like the cracked sand fields of the desert.

Stiles felt like screaming. He felt nauseated, slowly edging closer as he ran his fingers over the edges of the jagged flesh, trembling hands unsuccessfully trying to close or ignore the gaping hole.

“Derek? Derek, please.”

Tears fell down his cheeks, drumming against the pillows and Derek’s skin clearing trails through the blood.

He sniffed back his tears and listened to the eerie sounds of the night. Not the howling winds or the crackling leaves in the forest. But the drumming splatter of dripping liquid as the droplets struck the floorboards.

It was close.

Stiles slowly turned his head, staring back into the shadows of the room as the moonlight illuminated the beta’s dripping heart, tightly clasped in a hand.

He jolted upright, screaming.

Strong arms wound around him, pinning his flailing arms to his side as he was pulled back against the warmth of the man’s chest. He fought back for a second, before falling weak in his arms. He hugged Derek’s forearms against his chest, letting tears fall against the man’s golden skin.

Derek gently rocked Stiles, laying kisses against the crown of his head as he whispered reassuringly.

Stiles span around, his cold, trembling hands creeping up Derek’s chest and feeling across the smooth skin, untainted. He pressed his hand against Derek’ bicep, feeling his strong heartbeat push back.

“It’s okay,” Derek whispered. “It was just a nightmare.”

Stiles nuzzled his face into Derek’s chest. He inhaled the beta’s scent, relaxing as Derek pulled the boy against his chest and fell back against the sheet. Derek gently patted down Stiles’ tussled bed hair.

Stiles slowly closed his eyes, feeling his head rise and fall with Derek’s breathing.

Stiles nuzzled Derek like a kitten, trying to find warmth. He turned his head and felt his fingers brush against the curves of Derek’s shoulder. He paused for a moment, drawing his fingers back from the sticky sensation. The feeling lingered. On his fingers. On his face. On his body.

Stiles opened his eyes.

Something was wrong.

Derek was icy cold, still and lifeless.

Stiles sat back, straddling Derek’s waist as he looked down at the man… the blood-soaked corpse.

His chest was torn open.

Stiles chocked back bile, the thick metallic smell of blood overpowering him with the urge to vomit. He clasped his hand to his mouth, desperately trying to ignore the lingering thick taste of blood out of his mouth.

Glassy pale eyes stared him down. The disfigured fearful expression filled him with guilt.

His vibrant red blood was spread across his face. Streaming lines of blood moved about as if alive, morphing into various symbols and shapes before seeping into the shape of three words; _YOU ARE MINE_.

There it was.

The dripping.

He turned, looking at the scarlet red eyes that pierced the inky shadows of the night.

Stiles opened his mouth to scream, but was silenced by the low growl that tore through his flesh.

_You are mine_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Stiles jolted upright, holding his breath to silence his scream as he woke up to a quiet morning, the sun barely rising over the horizon as he found himself in the warm pool of worn bedsheets. He sat up, sheet falling to his waist.

He grabbed at the sheets with one hand, holding them to in place in order to hide his half-naked body. He reached over the edge of the bed for his clothes, toppling off the mattress and collapsing to the floor with a thud. He sprang up, limbs flailing as he scrambled for his clothes, hoping Derek wasn’t disturbed enough by the noise to inspect it.

He fumbled with the thick denim of his jeans, shoving his legs through his pants tugging them up over his protruding hip bones. He quickly zipped them up and pulled his shirt over his head. He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his old red hoodie and practically sprinted down the hallway.

He slid to a halt at the top of the stairs, leaning against the charred banister to watch Derek sweat and flex as he dipped to the floor and pushed himself back up. Derek stopped, braced against his spread palms as he lifted his head to Stiles. “Like what you see?”

Stiles smirked, dimples pressing into his cheeks as his coffee coloured eyes observed the half-naked man. “Very much so.”

Derek rolled his eyes and stood up. He tugged his shirt off the banister and pulled it over his head despite Stiles’ obvious huff of disapproval. Tugging the hem down over his abs, he turned his attention back to stiles. “Do you want me to drop you home before school?”

Stiles twisted his mouth as he though. His shirt did stink a little and he did need to pick up his English homework. “Yeah, probably should.”

“Alright, come on.”

Stiles skipped down the stairs, watching as Derek slid his leather jacket onto his shoulders and collected his car keys. Stiles scooped up his backpack and followed Derek out of the house.

 

#

 

Stiles fidgeted and fumbled with his fingertips, ringing his hands as he tried to organise his thoughts and order words into sentences. He drew in his breath.

“What does this make us?” he asked.

Derek’s eyes didn’t move away from the road, he brow furrowed in concentration as he changed gears and rounded onto the road which lead back into town. He shrugged and sighed heavily, casting a quick glance at the boy. “Stiles, I’m not… I can’t… I’ve never been good at this sort of stuff; romances and relationships. Everyone around me always ends up hurt or dead.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Derek stared at him in disbelief.

“Okay, maybe I can’t take care of myself,” Stiles admitted in defeat. “But I still want to try. I want to be with you.”

Derek pulled up to the curb and parked. He turned to Stiles and reached forward. His fingers brushed against the boy’s chin as he tilted his face up and brought their lips together for a tentative kiss.

“I do too,” he whispered.

Stiles smiled as he drew back and slid out of the car. He heard the engine rev as the sleek black car vanished around the corner of the street.

He shoved his key into the lock and rattled the door open.

“Stiles?” his father’s voice echoed through the house.

“Hi, Dad,” Stiles called back, setting his bag down and hurrying into the kitchen. He rummaged through the cupboard and opened the plastic wrap of a loaf of bread. He pulled out two slices and shoved one in his mouth, tearing apart and devouring the soft white flesh.

“Where have you been?” his father asked, voice strained with worry.

“I was at Scott’s,” Stiles lied around the mouthful of bread. “I guess I lost track of time and fell asleep.” He scooted around his father and hurried upstairs. He left his bedroom door ajar, listening to his father ramble on about getting him his phone back from evidence and how he ought to put a GPS tracker on his son.

Stiles rolled his eyes, biting into the second piece of bread as he stripped his shirt off and tossed it aside. He dug through his draws, pulling out a clean shirt and a pair of jeans. He pressed his hand against the panel to push it shut but hesitated. He quickly burrowed through the clothes and picked out another set of shirt and pants. He rolled them into a bundle, grabbing his English books and hurrying downstairs. He shoved the clothes and the book into his bag.

“I’ve got to go, Dad,” he called over his shoulder as he pulled the front door open. “Oh, and before I forget, I’m going to Derek’s this afternoon. I’ve got to do the finishing touches on my assignment before Monday. So I’ll either be home later tonight or sometime tomorrow. Love you. Bye.”

He shut the door and sprinted to this car, jumping in and starting the engine before his father had a chance to call or run after him.

 

#

 

Stiles stared at the clock, watching as the hand ticked closer and closer to the minute. He was so relieved when the bell rang that he practically fell out of his chair and ran to his locker.

He waved off Scott’s comments about how much better his mood was today, stuffing his homework into his bag and scrambling out to his car. He tossed his bag into the passenger seat and pulled his seatbelt across his chest. He was giddy and impatient as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove across town. Every traffic light and intersection was infuriating and Stiles didn’t hesitate in expressing his anger.

He smiled to himself as he turned out of town and drove down the quieter stretches of road. He slowed down and turned off the asphalt and onto the bumpy track that lead to the Hale house.

His smile grew wider as he pulled up before the house only to find Derek waiting for him on the balcony, hands buried in the pockets of his favourite leather jacket and green eyes vibrantly juxtaposing the orange wool beanie that sat atop his head.

Stiles practically leapt out of his Jeep and ran to Derek’s side. As he stepped up onto the balcony, Derek hooked his fingers in the hem of Stiles’ shirt, drawing him closer. He smiled down at the boy, tilting his head and placing a tender kiss against Stiles’ soft pink lips.

Derek pulled his fingers from Stiles’ shirt and dropped his hands to the boy’s waist, a little startled by how comfortable and natural the gesture seemed.

He drew back and gently tugged at Stiles’ waist, ushering him inside.

Stiles dropped his bag beside the door, keys falling atop the worn canvas. He pressed his hands against Derek’s chest slowly guiding him back into the lounge room. The man fell back against the old couch with a huff.

Stiles knelt over him, straddling Derek’s hips. He shoved Derek’s shoulders back against the cushion, flicking off the thick beanie. He clenched his fists around the thick grey shirt and brought their lips together, opening his mouth and submitting to the warmth of Derek’s tongue. He smiled as Derek moaned into his mouth, his hands sliding from Stiles’ hips to his to his jeans, kneading his ass.

Stiles moaned in return, hips buckling against Derek’s and grinding back against his firm hands.

Derek lifted his hands to Stiles’ shirt, sliding his fingers beneath the hem and pulling it up. Stiles drew back from the kiss for a minute to pull the shirt over his head and toss it aside before doing the same for Derek. He brought his lips to the man’s neck, gently sucking at the skin and moving a trail of kisses up to the light scruff of his beard, eliciting a pleasurable moan from the man. Stiles stopped just before his lips, taking in the sight of the man’s blissful face; his fluttering eyes and parted lips.

Derek’s cool hazel eyes blinked open. Stiles dropped his eyes away, biting his lips and blushing.

“Why are you so nervous?” Derek asked, his whisper brushing against Stiles’ neck as he pressed a soft kiss against the curve of his skin.

“Because I’m nowhere near as good looking as you,” Stiles muttered, almost ashamed.

“I beg to differ.” Derek sat back against the cushions, his hands sliding up the boy’s side and across his chest. He didn’t have defined muscles or radiant skin, but he did have distinct scattered freckles which covered his pale skin.

He ran a finger across the boy’s flesh, tracing his fingertip across Stiles’ beating heart and connecting the scattered dots.

“Lupus. The wolf,” Derek mused, eyes rolling over the boy as he moved his finger to the boy’s shoulder, drawing invisible lines across his skin. “Canis major, with Sirius at its heart.” His finger trailed down the boy’s skinny bicep. “Canis minor, following the larger dog’s lead.” He moved his hand back down to the boy’s hip. “The three stars of belt of Orion, the strong warrior.”

Stiles blushed.

Derek’s hands slid down to Stiles’ hips, his thumbs tracing circles in the protruding bones. His green eyes flicked up to meet Stiles’ chestnut brown gaze.

The boy dropped his chin to his chest in an attempt to hide his flushed, red cheeks.

Derek glided his fingers back up the boy’s torso, tilting the boy’s chin up to meet his gaze.

“You’re gorgeous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part One? Done.


	15. PART TWO: BROKEN - Chapter Fifteen

“What do you want for dinner?” Derek asked as he stepped into the kitchen.

“Spaghetti?” Stiles asked sheepishly as he followed Derek.

“I can do that,” Derek mumbled as he rummaged through the pantry and tossed a pack of pasta onto the benchtop before scavenging a pot and a few other ingredients. He filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to boil.

Stiles watched as the man moved around the kitchen with unhindered grace.

A knife rested on the table top, the blade resting among the grooves of the red grain while the wooden hilt rested against the thick wooden chopping board. The sharpened blade reflected the red glow of the anaemic morning light, the colour bleeding into the raw flesh of the table.

Stiles stepped forward, silently edging his way across the room and sauntering up to Derek’s side. He slid in between the man and the bench, running his fingers across his golden skin. The buds of his fingertips ran over his shoulders before trailing down his chest, following the ridges and seams of his muscles beneath his shirt. He leant in close, his breath rolling across Derek’s unshaven whiskers as he edged the man backwards, pushing him back against the table Stiles was pleased by the surprised gasp which escaped Derek’s lips. Derek’s hands fell to Stiles’ hips as the boy ground their hips against the dark grain of the wood. Stiles tilted his chin, bringing their lips together, relieving the space that divided them.

Derek laid back on the table, pulling Stiles down with him. He moaned in ecstasy, deepening the kiss.

Derek struggled to catch his breath as they broke apart and Stiles clambered up onto the table, straddling Derek’s waist.

Derek could taste the boy’s lips, the lingering sweetness of his saliva and the heat of his tongue which seemed to submit before his own. His breath was rugged, savage, as they parted for mere seconds.

Stiles slid his hands up Derek’s arms, pinning them above his head. The soft pads of his fingertips brushed against the skin of his wrists, tracing the thick veins down his forearms. He could feel Derek’s tortured pulse drum against his thumb.

Derek tried to move his arms, but Stiles held him still. The man’s eyes widened, awed by how strong the boy really was. He wasn’t skinny, defenceless Stiles. He wasn’t 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones. He was a predator.

Derek let out a pained whine, desperate to break free and touch the teen, to run his hand through his soft brown locks, to caress his soft, freckled, skin. His whimper caught in his throat, the vibrations scratching his skin against something pressed against his jugular.

Stiles drew back, his lips still and the kiss dead. He opened his eyes and vibrant yellow irises narrowed on the soft greens waves of Derek’s. The glare sent ice through Derek’s veins, leaving him breathless and his blood cold enough to make him shiver against the smooth grain of the tabletop.

He didn’t need to glance down, he was very familiar with the sensation of a knife being pressed against his throat.

Derek’s fingers twitched as he resisted the instinctual urge to fight back; resisting the urge to tear open Stiles’ pale flesh, to grab the boy by the nape of his neck and hurl him over the edge of the table, or to grab his jaw, twist his head and break his neck.

The alpha’s voice rang in Stiles’ ears.

_Kill him._

Derek looked the boy in the eye, emotions flickering in the glow. Glistening tears welled behind the dark bars of the boy’s eyelashes.

Derek didn’t move, he kept his breathing even and eyes locked on Stiles. Shimmering droplets splashed against Derek’s sharp cheek bones.

 _Kill him_.

“Fight back,” Stiles whimpered.

“No,” Derek whispered, voice level and expression unchanging.

“Fight back,” he pleaded desperately.

Derek’s voice was calm, collected and soft. Derek slowly shook his head, the edge of the blade scratching at his Adam’s apple. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Fight back!”

Derek shook his head again, faster, the blade breaking the skin. A small droplet of blood gathered at the edge of the scratch, rolling down the curve of his neck and splashing against the rich oak tabletop.

“Fight me!” His lips trembled. His voice was broken by sobs. “Kill me.”

Derek’s eyes flared blue. “No!”

Stiles tightened his grip on the wooden hilt, hand trembling. He bit his lip, face warping in pain as he threw the knife aside.

The blade collided with the wall, clattering to the ground, as flakes of crumbling plaster rained around it.

He dropped against Derek’s bare chest, collapsing in a mess of sobs and whimpers. Derek ran his hands up to Stiles’ trembling shoulders.

“Why?” the boy sobbed. “Why?”

Stiles fell still against Derek.

Derek ran his hand across the Stiles’ shoulders, lacing his fingers through the mess of the boy’s dark locks. He pressed a tender kiss against the crown of the boy’s head, nuzzling his face into his hair as the boy buried his face in the warmth of Derek’s skin, hot tears rolling across his skin.

He felt the boy’s weight rise and fall with his chest as his breath rolled in and out of his lungs.

“Why?” Stiles repeated, his face buried in the crook of Derek’s neck. Derek shivered at the sensation of warmth as Stiles’ words rolled across his collar bone, the heated breath seeping into his skin.

Derek remained silent, encasing Stiles in the security of his arms and cradling him. Tufts of the boy’s hair sprawled across his chest, the dark colour leaking into the shadows which clung to the grooves of the curves of their bodies.

 

#

 

Stiles poked at the plate of spaghetti with his fork, watching the strings of pasta buckle around the prongs like waves around the rocks of a shore. He knew Derek was watching him but he didn’t dare look up.

“Want to talk about it?” Derek asked, more of a demand rather than a question.

“It was the alpha,” Stiles whispered. “They’re angry. They thinks I betrayed them by choosing you.” He turned his face away, hiding the tears which glittered in his eyes. “They want me to kill you.”

Derek rose from his chair and walked around the table. He pulled Stiles into his arms, holding him close as tears soaked his shirt.

“I can’t do this,” the boy cried. “What if next time it works? What if I kill you? What if next time it’s Scott? O-or Melissa? Or my dad?” Stiles pulled back, face twisted in fear as he choked on the thought. “Oh god, what if it’s my dad? I can’t lose him. He’s all I have left. I can’t lose my dad!”

Derek pulled him back into his arms, letting the boy hide his face into the curve of his neck. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Promise?” Stiles whimpered.

Derek’s eyes softened. “I promise.”

“Promise me something else too?”

Derek craned his neck to look at Stiles. “What?”

“Promise you’ll keep this all a secret. Me being a werewolf and us being…”

“I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we start to get into the thick of it. Are you ready for this?
> 
> Thank you all for reading this far :)


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut Alert!

Stiles slowly gnawed at the crunchy curls of his fries. He tapped his fingers against the edge of his father’s desk, watching the minutes tick by on the face of clock above the doorframe.

The moon was predicted to rise in forty minutes and he was stuck within the confines of the police station and practically trapped in his father’s office with no snarky remark or excuse to get out.

He licked the salt off his lips.

He could feel the power brewing in his veins, hot and sticky. His jeans and jacket rustled against the cushion of the chair as Stiles shifted about nervously.

His eyes rolled over the walls of his father’s office, the beige plaster decorated by framed certificates of his achievements, promotions, his licences and thankyous for contributions, participation in and donations to local businesses and town events. His wrist bumped against the plaque, proudly presenting the title of Sheriff Stilinski. A thin grey sheet of paper covered the dark wooden desk, a stack of fries piled in the centre. He grabbed another handful of chips and shoved them in his mouth, watching his father roll his eyes as he chewed the mouthful of fries like a cow grazing on grass. The old man reached forward with his thick fingers, picking out a fry and comping down on it before turning his attention back to the manila folder full of papers before him.

He was shaken from his thoughts with the lieutenant tapped at the office door. Stiles span around, smiling at her around a mouthful of fries.

“Sorry to interrupt, Sheriff,” she started, her voice sweet and kind, matching the soft features of her face and her warm chocolate skin. She turned her glittering eyes to the boy. “There’s someone here for you, Stiles.”

Stiles’ expression dropped in confusion as he slowly stood up and moved down through the halls and open offices of the police station. He dragged his feet across the polished tiles and made his way out to the front desk. He froze as he stepped into the space, watching as the visitor ran his hand across the rick oak of the front desk, walking his fingers across the grain. The hand stilled and he lifted his eyes to the boy. Pearly white teeth flashed as he grinned at Stiles.

“Hi,” Derek greeted.

Stiles smiled in return, a little dumbfounded. He turned his head, eyes darting over his shoulder to make sure no one saw them. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

“Full moon,” Derek stated simply.

“Yeah, that.” Stiles sighed He bit his lip and shifted slightly. He glanced back up to Derek and motioned for him to stand still. “Stay there, I’ll just be back in a minute.”

Stiles sprinted back into his father’s office and grabbed his backpack and a handful of chips. He shoved them into his mouth and collected the evidence bag with his phone in it, waiting for his father to object.

“Who is it?” Sheriff Stilinski asked, not taking his eyes off the folder of paperwork as he ran his hands through his thinning grey hair.

Stiles froze just before the doorframe. “It’s, uh, Scott.” He turned back to his dad. “I’m going to go and study at his place tonight. I’ll see you after school tomorrow. Night, Dad.”

“Night,” he heard his father call after him as he disappeared down the halls and pranced up to Derek’s side. The man lead him out of the station, waiting until they were outside in the dying light before draping his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and walking him over to the Camaro.

 

#

 

Stiles stood by the door, waiting for Derek to instruct him to do something. He watched as the man wrapped a length of chain around the old oil heater fastened to the bedroom wall.

Derek turned to the boy, taking a moment to look at him. His colourful plaid shirt hung loosely off Stiles’ thin, hunched shoulders, flapping about atop the rippling fabric of his tee-shirt that smothered his slender body. Had Derek not seen how much the boy ate he would have assumed he was underfed. Big brown eyes stared at him from beneath his thick tussled fringe.

Derek wished he could stare forever, but he noticed how the boy shifted beneath his gaze and decided to offer his hand to the boy, whispering softly, “Come here, pup.”

Stiles reached out for his hand, moving across the room. His eyes were fixed on the menacing chains.

“Are they really necessary?” Stiles murmured. He felt nervous, almost scared. “Do you think we’re ready to experiment with bondage?” he asked, resorting to sarcasm to defuse the tension between them.

Derek rolled his eyes and smiled softly as he motioned for the boy to set before the heater. Stiles obliged, watching the man intently as he wove the chains over Stiles’ chest and around the back of the heater. He clamped a pair of handcuffs into place on the metal bars that fastened the heater to the wall. He took Stiles’ hands in his own, the cuffs clicking shut as they latched onto the boy’s thin wrists.

“I’m scared,” Stiles whispered.

“It’s your first full moon, it’s to be expected.”

“Not about that.”

“You’ll be okay.” Derek ran his hand across Stiles’ cheek and smiled reassuringly. He laid a soft kiss against Stiles’ forehead. Derek sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at Stiles. “I’m going to be right here for you. Alright?”

Stiles nodded, still a little unsettled.

As the moon rose over the horizon, Stiles’ eyes lit up and he let out an agonising scream. The howl tore at his throat, emptying his lungs as he fought against the primal possession of power. He thrashed against the chains, the curves of metal pushing against his chest and holding him back against the rippling panel of the oil heater. The old screws of the rattled and clattered. The metal bars creaked and groaned as it desperately clung to the wall.

“Calm down, Stiles,” Derek whispered.

“It hurts!” he howled.

“I know, pup. I know.” Derek spoke softly, leaning his elbows against his knees. His own eyes glowed vibrantly in the moonlight. The boy’s whimpers and cries pained him. “You’ll be okay. It’ll pass soon.”

“Please,” he cried. He his breath was broken into rugged pants as he tensed his muscles and pushed against the chains, straining himself to reach forward. The cuffs bit into his wrists, blood trailing from the torn skin. He balled his fists, jagged claws digging into the palms of his hands. Blood spilled over the floor, each drop splattering and rippling as it began to pool. “Please, Derek, take them off.”

Derek opened his mouth to reply but was silenced by a loud crack. Blue sparks and silver shards flew about the room.

Stiles collapsed to the floor, free of his restraints. He fell to his hands and knees, whimpering and heaving breaths as the skin of his palms began to stitch together, leaving only the mess of blood dripping through the floorboards beneath the heater.

Derek stared in shock.

The boy lifted himself to his knees, shoulders heaving and eyes gleaming. Beneath the heavy breathing and broken sobs he hear the soft mutter. “Please,” he whispered, tears falling into the pools of blood. “Please don’t tie me up again. I’ll behave, I promise.”

Derek reached forwards and patted the top of Stiles’ head softly. “Okay, okay,” Derek whispered softly. He gently placed his hands beneath Stiles’ arms and helped him up onto the bed. He laid him down against the pillows, positioning himself beside the boy. “But you have to stay beside me, alright?”

“I promise,” he said without hesitation, balling his fists against Derek’s shirt and clinging to him. “I promise.”

He brushed his cheek against Derek’s bicep, feeling the man pull him close. He felt Derek’s chest rise and fall as he sighed, breath rustling in his lungs and stirring the soft locks on the boy’s head.

Derek shifted, lifting his phone off the small bedside table to check the time. He set it back down, smiling as he craned his neck to look at the boy.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Stiles turned his bright eyes to Derek.

“It’s after midnight.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s confusion. He tilted his chin and brushed his lips against Stiles’, just enough to tease him.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered.

Stiles smiled, burying his blush in the curves of Derek’s chest.

“I don’t have a present,” Derek confessed. “But I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Stiles’ eyes opened wide, eager. “Whatever I want?”

“Not that. Not until you’re eighteen,” Derek reiterated.

“My dad won’t find out.” Stiles sat up, straddling Derek’s hips. “And I’m giving you my full consent.”

A coy smirk spread across Stiles’ face as Derek sighed – defeated – and sat upright, bringing their lips together. Derek ran his tongue across Stiles’ lower lip, tasting the lingering salt that dusted his lips. The boy opened his mouth, submitting to the warmth of Derek’s tongue. He smiled as Derek moaned against his mouth, his hands sliding from Stiles’ hips to his jeans, kneading his ass.

Stiles moaned in return, grinding against Derek’s lap and pushing back against his firm hands.

Derek lifted his hands to Stiles’ shirt, sliding his fingers beneath the hem. Stiles drew back from the kiss and swiftly tugged the shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

Derek brought his lips to the boy’s neck, gently sucking at the skin and moving a trail of kisses up to the curve of the Stiles’ jaw, eliciting a pleasured whimper from the boy. Derek stopped just before his lips, taking in the sight of the boy’s blissful face; his fluttering eyes and parted pink lips. He pressed a light kiss against Stiles’ mouth, teasing him as he trailed the tip of his finger down the curve of the boy’s chest, across his sternum and down his abdomen.

He stopped.

Stiles grinded his hips against Derek’s again, listening to the man purr as his bulge rubbed against Derek’s erection. Stiles urged the man on, craning his neck to a trail kisses up Derek’s neck, brushing his lips across Derek’s soft whiskers before locking their lips together.

Derek slid his hand between them, unbuttoning Stiles’ jeans and pulling them down over his hips. He moved one hand to the boy’s crotch, the other returning to grasp the boy’s exposed ass.

Stiles gasped as Derek brushed his palm against his throbbing erection, sliding his hands into the boy’s boxers and taking his length in his hand. He craned his neck and nipped at the boy’s throat, feeling the vibrations of his erotic cries as he slowly ran his thumb across the tip of Stiles’ cock.

Stiles bucked to his touch

Derek growled, sinking his teeth into Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles yelped in surprise, his hips leaping up into Derek’s hold

Derek gently kissed at the reddening skin. He slid his hand down to the base of Stiles’ cock, quickly moving it up and down his shaft.

Stiles pushed against Derek’s hand, his body trembling as his stomach tensed. He muttered Derek’s name over and over, feeling the man groan against his skin in response.

“Oh God, Derek,” Stiles gasped.

Friction snagged at Derek’s lower lip, making him drag the warm kiss across Stiles’ moonlight pale skin and up to his ear. He gently nibbled at the lobe, smiling at the unrestrained moans he coaxed from Stiles.

“What do you want me to do, Stiles?” he whispered, his breath teasing the pale skin.

Stiles drew in heavy breaths, trying to clear the fog from his mind. He felt weak, so welcoming to Derek’s touch.

His lips trembled as he finally found his voice. “Whatever you want.”

Derek’s lips latched onto his throat again before he drew back, feeling Stiles shiver from the loss of warmth. He brought his lips back to Stiles’, soft and tentative.

Derek slid his hand into Stiles’ hand, weaving their fingers together as he rolled the boy over and set him against the sheets. He slid off the mattress, kneeling on the ground. He caught Stiles by the ankles and pulled him to the edge of the bed, taking joy in the surprised yelp that escaped the boy’s lips. He knelt over Stiles, straddling his waist and levelling himself with the boy’s eyes.

“What do you want, Stiles?”

Stiles smiled, golden eyes locked onto the beta’s swirling blue irises. “You.”

Derek kissed him again, his lips very slowly brushing across Stiles’.

Stiles hummed blissfully, chasing Derek’s mouth as he drew back. He caressed Stiles’ slender body, fingertips lingering over the curves of his protruding bones. He held one broad hand against Stiles’ hip, the other halted on the boy’s chest and pinning him back against the mattress.

“Stop me any time, okay?”

Stiles nodded. Warm chocolate eyes observed him as he dropped his lips to the boy’s chest, littering kisses across exposed patches of skin. Derek pressed his face to Stiles’ abdomen, trailing kisses down his stomach and to his waist before drawing away slightly. The heat of his breath tussled the small trail of hair which vanished beneath the waistline of Stiles’ boxers. Stiles’ breathing was rugged and only became worse as Derek caught the elastic between his teeth and dragged it down, torturing a gasp from the boy.

His jeans were at his ankles in seconds, his boxers following not long after.

Stiles gasped at the rush of cool air that rolled over his exposed flesh.

Derek ran his hands up Stiles’ shins and down his calves. He braced his palms against Stiles’ inner thighs, urging him to spread his legs. He craned his neck and placed a soft kiss against the underside of Stiles’ erection and quickly followed it by dragging his tongue up his length. He listened to Stiles whimper and gasp.

He licked his lips, tasting the beads salty precum which dripped over Stiles’ pulsing cock.

Stiles gasped as Derek swirled his tongue around the head of his cock and took his whole length in his mouth without warning.

Stiles’ moans and muttered obscenities made Derek’s own crotch throb. He couldn’t help but hum against Stiles’ cock, the rumbling purr making the boy’s hips buckle and thrust deeper into Derek’s mouth. He tightened his mouth around Stiles’ length, gently massaging circles into his inner thighs with his thumbs as he moved his head up and down the boy’s cock.

Stiles buckled his hips towards the warmth of Derek’s mouth.

The beta grabbed at Stiles’ hip, shoving him back against the edge of the mattress and holding him there. The boy squirmed beneath his hold, threading a hand through Derek’s hair and tugging at tufts. With his free hand, Derek grabbed Stiles’ hand and pinned it against the sheets. Stiles yelped, bright yellow eyes staring down at him.

Derek pulled away from Stiles, precum dripping from his lips.

“You have to learn self-control,” he whispered.

Stiles whimpered incomprehensibly, squirming and thrusting, desperate to feel Derek’s warmth again.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Stiles shook his head violently, staring at Derek with fearful eyes.

“Then get a hold of yourself,” he said with finality, lowering himself back between Stiles’ legs. He took Stiles’ cock back in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the tip and gently sucking at the head, listening to Stiles as he gasped, yelped and moaned. He lapped at the tip of Stiles’ cock before slowly working his way down the shaft and dragging his lips back up his length.

Stiles gasped Derek’s name, letting free savage, animalistic growls as his stomach tensed and he drew closer to his climax.

Derek moved his head faster, rolling his tongue around the boy’s head as he did.

Stiles heaved in shallow breaths, gasping and moaning as his back arched off the bed as he clawed at the sheets. He let out a strangled moan as Derek sank down on him.

He came, hot sticky semen flowing from the head of his cock.

Derek slowly drew his mouth away, swallowing the semen ad licking at the salty drops that were spattered over his lips. He pressed a soft kiss against Stiles’ inner thigh. He rose to his feet and walking into the hallway, heading for the bathroom. As he came back into the room, he stopped and slouched against the doorframe, tilting his head to take in the sight of Stiles naked and sprawled out over his sheets. Smirking, he stepped over to the boy’s side and quickly cleaned up what little mess he had made with the towel. He tossed it aside and crawled up onto the bed.

Stiles’ breathing slowed as he watched Derek settle among the pillows. Derek patted at the sheets beside him and waited.

Stiles rolled onto his front and dragged himself across the bed to curl up against Derek’s side.

His head was swirling. He was overly sensitive, warmth radiating from every point of contact. The man’s gentle touches filled him with warmth and set him at ease as he pressed his cheek against Derek’s bicep, staring up at his shimmering blue eyes.

“Happy birthday,” Derek whispered, turning to look down at Stiles.

The boy dropped his gaze, flustered.

Derek craned his neck and pressed a soft kiss among the mess of Stiles’ ruffled hair.

“How long do you think it’s going to take for them to find out?” Derek asked, voice quiet.

“That we had sex, that I’m a werewolf or that I’m gay?” Stiles sighed. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have sinned, but you read it.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Derek pulled up to the curb outside the school gates. He heard Stiles inhale deeply as he reached for the doorhandle.

Derek reached across, sliding his hand atop the boy’s, stilling him. He lifted his free hand to the boy’s lips, gently brushing against the soft flesh and parting them slightly. Stiles pressed a soft kiss against Derek’s finger, making the man smile. Derek leant in close, tilted his head and lovingly kissed the boy. As he drew back, he watched the boy’s trembling lips and fluttering eyelashes.

Stiles’ lips tugged down as sadness swirled in his eyes.

“Am I going to be alright?” Stiles asked, his voice a low, strained whisper.

“You’ll be okay,” Derek reassured him. “If anything happens, I’m just a phone call away. Alright?”

Stiles nodded and tugged open the car door. He stepped out of the car and trudged up to the heavy blue doors. Stiles shuffled down the hallway, head throbbing and hands trembling.

“Stiles,” Scott called, bouncing up to his friend’s side. He jostled Stiles’ shoulders and smiled at his friend. “Happy birthday, man!”

Stiles smiled softly at Scott.

“Dude, you okay?” Scott asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles lied. “Just got a headache.” He turned his eyes to Scott, watching the boy’s face twist in worry. “I’m fine.”

He stopped at his locker, tugged open his padlock and tossed his bag inside. His hands began to quivering violently. He balled his hand into a fist, feeling sharp nails bite at the palm of his hand.

“You don’t seem okay,” Scott whispered.

“I’m fine,” Stiles replied, voice strained. That’s when he noticed the purple petals which littered the halls, fluttering and drifting through the air on the thin breeze that rolled through the opening doors. He held his breath, feeling the pollen sting his nose. His heart pounded in his ears.

Exhaling heavily, he asked Scott, “You okay?”

Scott seemed taken aback. “Sure. Got a bit of a headache but that’s about it. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Stiles glanced at the bouquets of the flowers. “Wolfsbane.” He dropped his head, biting the inside of his cheek as he gripped the edge of his locker. “Well, I guess that’s to be expected,” he spat venomously under his breath. “You have your powers under control.”

He slammed his locker shut, his hand trembling against the metal pane.

Scott shifted about, rummaging through his locker. He stopped, looking a little closer at his friend.

Stiles wasn’t breathing. His shoulders shuddered as his lungs burnt for air.

His dark eyes welled with concern. “Stiles, are you sure you’re okay?”

Everything was so loud.

“Stiles? Is this a panic attack?” Scott asked, his voice distant and drained. Scott caught a hold of Stiles’ shoulders, stopping him from swaying and collapsing.

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” Stiles gulped.

“Stiles, you forget your paper.”

“Derek?” Stiles whimpered, a silent plea for comfort.

Derek frowned, stepping closer to the boy. He dropped his hand to the Stiles’ shoulder, tilting his head to look at his face. “You alright?”

“I’m going to be sick,” the boy gasped.

“Bathroom,” Derek instructed, coiling his arm around the Stiles’ shoulders and guiding him down the hall. Stiles stubbled, his legs heavy, as if chains were latched around his ankles. He fell against Derek, feeling the man’s firm hands grip him and practically carry him into the bathroom.

Derek shoved open the heavy wooden door.

Stiles leapt out of his hold, thumping his shoulder against the doorframe and collapsing against the rim of the sink. He hunched his shoulders and heaved in breaths.

 _Breathe_.

He gasped, feeling cold air rush into his mouth but not reach his lungs, just the strong stench of piss and disinfectant.

“Breathe, pup,” Derek instructed.

Stiles shook his head, tears falling down his face. He coughed, struggling to inhale past his broken sobs. “It’s so loud… Why is it so loud?”

Stiles felt his blood burn. Not like when he cried, this warmth was concentrated, a wave of raw heat which flooding his eyes. He lifted his gaze to the mirror, watching as the usual brown irises glowed yellow.

Derek grabbed his shoulders, steering him into a cubicle. He shut the door and slid the latch into place. He grabbed fistfuls of Stiles’ shirt pinning him against the wall and crushing their mouths together.

Stiles hands stilled, arms coiling around Derek’s neck and pulling the man closer.

Derek weakened his grip on the thin cotton shirt, sliding his hands down to Stiles’ hips.

Derek broke away from the kiss to draw breath, panting ruggedly as he pressed his forehead against Stiles’. He stared deeply into the boy’s eyes, watching the flicker of yellow fade into the dark depths.

“Better?” Derek whispered.

Stiles nodded, lips still parted eagerly.

The bathroom door swung open again.

“Stiles?” Scott called from outside the stall.

Stiles’ eyes flew open wide with panic. Derek held his composure, cupping his hand over Stiles’ mouth. He moved his jaw around the words “I’m so sorry” and slammed his fist into Stiles’ gut. He caught the boy as he doubled over; gasping, coughing, spluttering and crying out in pain.

“I’m going to take him home, Scott,” Derek announced.

“Alright,” Scott muttered reluctantly. Derek watched his shoes shuffle across the tiles as he debated whether or not to leave. The shrill bell rang, causing Stiles to flinch and clamp his hands over his ears.

Scott seemed reluctant as he turned and left, leaving the screeching hinges of the bathroom door to follow.

 

#

 

Stiles practically fell into the foyer of the Hale house. Derek held his firm grip around the boy’s waist, supporting his weight as he stumbled across the wooden floorboards. He walked Stiles into the lounge room and set him down among the cushions of the faded couch before returning to his car to collect the boy’s bag and belongings.

He pulled the front door shut behind himself and set the bag down against the plaster and wooden boards of the wall. A flicker of purple caught his attention. He crouched down to inspect the crumple mess of lilac tinted powder and wilted petals which littered the floorboards.

Wolfsbane.

He rose to his feet and scuffed his boot across the floor, kicking the crumpled flower out onto the balcony. He quickly shut the door before the wind blew it back in.

He turned to head back to the lounge room. As he stepped past the door frame, he caught the scent of sweet pears and ash. He sniffed, turning and halting at the sight of the third person in the room; the bloody, burnt and disfigured body of a young girl, barely a teenager.

“Cora?” he gasped.

She narrowed his eyes on him. The whites of her eyes speckles with burst blood vessels and flesh peeling off her charred bones. Her hair had been seared, leaving only a few tufts attached to her skull. Her almond skin was a mix of colours; black, brown, and red. The burnt flesh blistered and glistened with weeping ooze and blood.

“You did this,” she hissed.

“No,” he breathed.

Her glimmering yellow eyes narrow on him. He swallowed hard, watching the boiled fletch flake and crumble as the omega braced herself to pounce. The movement shattered her, leaving a charred skeleton that clawed its way across the floorboards towards him. Bones disintegrated into ash at his feet.

“Derek?” Stiles’ soft voice started him.

Derek turned his eyes to the boy, blinking away the predatory blue glimmer.

“You okay?” Stiles asked softly.

“Yeah.” He walked across the living room, snatching up the cool beer he had left on the old mantelpiece which hovered above the red brick fireplace. He lifted it to his lips and swallowed a few mouthfuls. He walked over to the couch, slumping down on the cushions.

Stiles turned to him. “Who’s Cora?”

“My sister,” Derek replied, taking another gulp of cold beer. He pressed his elbows against his knees and hung his head. “You’re smart. What’s the connection between pears and dead people?”

Stiles furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Just before I saw her I smelt pears.”

Stiles thought for a second. “Well, apparently burning human flesh smells like pears.” He noticed how Derek’s face dropped. He felt his stomach knot as the man’s eyes glittered with tears. Stiles leant in close. He ran his hand down the Derek’s bicep and whispered, “Derek?”

“I think you may have tracked some wolfsbane inside,” Derek muttered, trying to change the subject.

“Sorry,” the boy whimpered.

“It’s okay,” he assured the boy, rubbing his damp hands across his face. “It just means-” He froze, feeling a warm liquid trickle down his forehead and stream across his cheeks. He drew his hands away. Thick smears of clotting blood streamed across his hands. He turned to look at Stiles.

His breath caught in his throat.

The boy was thrown back against the couch, throat slit and blood meticulously spread across his face to spell ‘MINE’. Glassy, lifeless brown eyes stared back at him.

“Derek? Derek? Derek.” The soft voice was so far away, changing pitch and escalating into an endless scream.

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and shaking his head violently. He opened his eyes, looking at the boy who knelt before him, head tilted and chestnut brown eyes swirling with worry.

“I’m okay,” Derek said shakily. He tried to steady his breathing before continuing, “Wolfsbane’s poisonous if it stays in our bodies, but if you inhale it in a powdered form it causes hallucinations. Horrific ones. Worse than nightmares. I think I’m the only one who’s affected, so you should be okay.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Stiles asked.

“Can only wait it out,” Derek groaned, slouching back against the couch “Could you open up the windows and let the breeze roll through?”

Derek watched as Stiles bounced to his feet and scurried through the house. He rose to his feet, pausing for a moment as the blood sloshed about in his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for his world to stop spiralling around him.

He made his way over to the base of the stairs, dragging his feet across the uneven charred boards. He halted at the bottom step, noticing the sight of a young girl. Her soft lilac sweater was stained by a growing mess of red and black, drying blood clinging to the edges of the torn wool. Her soft brown curls were tussled and knotted. Her breath was rugged as she whimpered and sobbed.

His mouth trembled as he stuttered her name, “P-Paige.”

“Derek, please, I can’t take this anymore,” she wheezed.

Derek shut his eyes, shaking the image out of his head. He looked back to the staircase, eyes rolling across the curved banister and charred grain, but no Paige.

He grabbed a hold of the railing and slowly dragging himself upstairs, stumbling into the bathroom and fumbling with the shower taps. The pipes rattled and groaned as the water gushed out of the showerhead and into the off-white bathtub. He clambered over the edge of the bath and sat down under the streaming water, feeling each and every drop drag at his clothes. He leant back against the curve of the tub, feeling the warm water stream over the curves of his face and trickle down his throat.

There was a soft tap at the bathroom door as Stiles peered in. “You okay?”

Derek sighed, weakening and admitting his own defeat. He shook his head. “It really was my fault, wasn’t it?”

“What was?” Stiles asked, sitting down on the floor beside the bath.

“Everything. People getting hurt. People dying,” he whimpered. “It’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” Stiles levelled his eyes on the man. “It’s not your fault.”

“Everyone around me gets hurt,” Derek uttered. “My mother, my sisters, my family, the first person I ever loved, and every one after that.” He turned his eyes to Stiles. “I don’t want that to happen to you too.”

Derek was silent for a while, feeling his wet clothes tighten and drag at his limbs.

Stiles leant forward and pressed a kiss against Derek’s forehead.

“Come here,” Derek instructed. He gently tugged at Stiles’ jacket, pulling him towards the bath. He shifted, splashing water about as he moved to the other end of the tub. He tugged at the boy’s shirt, guiding him over the edge of the tub and sitting Stiles beneath the water. Stiles sputtered, blowing the water out of his face. Derek laughed as the boy shook his head, dislodging droplets from his dishevelled hair.

Derek chuckled lightly as he got out of the tub and peeled the soaking wet clothing off his body, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He heard the Stiles shift in the bath making a noise of obvious disapproval as Derek coiled a towel around his hips. He glanced over his shoulder, watching the boy observe him with hungry eyes as Stiles licked his lips seductively.

Derek rolled his eyes and stepped into his room. He made his way over to the pale dresser and rummaged through his draws, pulling out change of clothes and dressing himself. He carried a second lot of clothes into the bathroom and set them down on the benchtop. He opened the cupboard beneath the sink and pulled out a towel, setting it beside the clothes.

“When you’re ready,” he said as he left the bathroom and headed downstairs. He rummaged through the fridge, pulling out his last beer and cracking the cap open on the benchtop. He lifted it to his lips and gulped it down, feeling the cool liquid flow down his throat.

He heard the rattle of the pipes as the water shut off. He made his way back upstairs. He set his beer down on the bedside table and slumped down on the bed, folding his arms behind his head. Stiles joined him, dressing in a pair of tight black jeans with the cuffs folded up to suit his shorter legs. Derek raised his brow at the sight of the boy. The belt was pulled tight around his narrow hips and the dipping collar of the V-neck hung off his slender body, giving the illusion of a child dressed in his father’s clothes.

Derek pounced to the end of the bed, snagging the boy by the hem of the shirt and pulling him close. He latched his jaw around Stiles’ throat, kissing, nipping and sucking every inch of exposed skin as he made his way down the protruding collarbone. He nuzzled his face against the boy’s chest, devouring his moonlight-pale skin.

Stiles moaned, tugging at a fistful of Derek’s hair.

“You like the V-neck?” Stiles giggled as Derek’s soft whiskers brushed against his skin. “I’ll remember that.”

“That’s a good look on you,” Derek murmured.

“Seriously?” Stiles whined. “I’m _swimming_ in this shirt.” He flapped his arms about in order to emphasise his point. He continued, “And I can barely keep the pants up.”

“Then drop them,” Derek suggested with a smirk.

Stiles squinted at him.

Derek released the boy and laid back against the pillows, patting at the space beside him. Stiles crept onto the mattress. He rolled onto his back and rested his head against Derek’s stomach. He felt the man’s chest rhythmically rise and fall with Derek’s steady breath.

“Feel better?” Stiles asked, tilting his head back so he could see Derek.

“A little.” Derek ran his fingers through Stiles’ hair. “But I’d feel a lot better if you kissed me.”

“Oh?” Stiles chirped, rolling onto his front. He slid between Derek’s legs, and crept up Derek’s chest. His hand slipped beneath Derek’s shirt, his fingertips caressing the man’s firm muscles. He hummed contently, earning a smile from Derek. “I can do that.”

Derek reached forward, brushing his finger under Stiles’ chin. Stiles bowed to his touch, leaning forward and kissing the man.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Stiles slid out of his Jeep, bouncing onto the ground. He shrugged his bag onto his shoulder and slammed the car door shut with a heavy thud. He buried his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and trudged into the woods. He scuffed his feet through the dirt and leaves as he passed the Visitor’s Carpark sign and trudged down the beaten track. He made his way further and further into the dark depths of the forest.

He found a clearing and dropped his bag down next to an old tree stump, quickly unzipping the back section and pulling out the large bottle of Jack Daniels before settling down among the damp leaves and cool earth. He undid the lid and brought the bottle to his lips.

The amber liquid sloshed about, crashing against the glass as he gulped back the liquor, ignoring the burn as it make its way down his throat.

He sighed as he sank further against the cool earth, hoping to just disappear.

“I know something’s wrong,” he muttered to himself. “But I just can’t pick it.”

He swirled the bottle around before his face. He stared at the bottle, mesmerised by the small bubbles caught beneath the swirling tides of whiskey. He lifted the bottle to his mouth and downed the liquid, finishing off the bottle.

“What a great way to finish off my final years of high school. I’m gay. I’m a werewolf. And there’s something wrong with me.”

He wasn’t sure whether it was minutes or hours before he felt his mind weaken and thoughts wash away.

He fumbled with his bag, pulling out a few cans of bourbon and cola. He cracked the can open and slumped against the fungus-covered stump. He lifted the can to his lip, feeling the bubbles tingle his nose as he chugged it, quickly following it with second can.

“What’s wrong with me? Why am I so unlikable?” he mused to himself. He cracked open another can and sipped at it. He waved his arms about as if talking to someone. “I mean, I’m a closeted bisexual with a throbbing boner for Derek Hale. I kiss him, he kisses me and things are okay. He gives me a blowjob – a _really_ good blow job – and then… nothing.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Stiles flailed about, falling to the ground and rolling his head to look up at Derek.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Stiles spat, voice laced with venomous sarcasm. “If I’m intruding on your private property I’ll leave.”

Derek didn’t speak. He merely withdrew his hands from the pockets of his soft leather jacket and slid down next to the boy. He braced his arms behind his head and looked up through the foliage.

Stiles turned away from him, rummaging through his bag for another can. He offered it to Derek who took it without a word. He watched as Derek’s firm hands cracked the can open. He held his breath as Derek lifted the can to his mouth, balancing the edge of the aluminium against his lip. The soft lips which has so tentatively ran over his. The warm lips that had devoured his cock. Those sweet lips which had smiles at him so lovingly. He watched Derek’s Adam’s apple move as he gulped down mouthfuls of alcohol.

“I feel like something’s wrong,” Stiles whispered without thinking.

Derek lowered his drink away from his lips. “What do you mean?”

“Something’s wrong. Between us. Like… tension every time we talk.”

Derek was silent for a moment. “I told you I wasn’t good at this sort of thing.”

“That’s not the problem, Derek,” Stiles barked. “The problem is you’re not _trying_.” Stiles lifted his bourbon and cola to his lips, finishing off his drink. He knew Derek was staring at him and so he was intentionally avoiding man’s gaze, knowing he would melt within the crystal green depths.

Derek sighed. “I am… extremely and uncontrollably physically attracted to you and it feels incredibly awkward saying that.”

“Well, you know what?” Stiles rolled onto his side. He pranced on top of Derek, straddling his waist. Derek’s hands fell to the boy’s hips. He craned his neck and brought his face to Derek’s. His breath teased Derek’s lips. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Derek tightened his hands on Stiles’ hips, drawing him closer as the boy dropped his mouth to Derek’s. Stiles hummed, grinding down against Derek.

Stiles drew back, smirking as Derek chased his mouth, gently nipping at his lower lip. Stiles opened his mouth, eagerly welcoming his tongue. Derek slid his hand up the curve of the boy’s spine, pulling the boy closer against him. Stiles balled his fists against Derek’s shirt, moaning blissfully against the man’s mouth.

Stiles broke away from the kiss, craning his neck and latching his mount on Derek’s neck, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses across the curve of his golden skin.

“Stiles,” Derek whispered, hand twitching against the boy’s hip.

“Hmm?”

“Stiles, stop,” he instructed, tugging him back by his shirt and lifting the boy off of him.

Stiles pouted, lips quivering and eyes glistening in the moonlight as if he were about to cry.

He narrowed his mint green eyes on the boy. “Stiles, you’re drunk. I’m not going to let you do something that you’ll regret.”

“I’m not going to regret it… not with you,” he purred, bringing his lips back to Derek’s throat.

Derek tightened his grip on the boy’s shirt, leaving him to dangle just out of reach. “I’m not going to let you do anything you’ll forget in the morning, or regret when you do remember.”

Stiles pouted. His eyes flickered yellow as his cringed and groaned, pressing his hands against his forehead.

Derek carefully lowered him onto the cushion of littered leaves beside him, rolling onto his side to look at the boy.

“You okay?” Derek asked, fear flooding his voice.

“My head hurts,” Stiles whimpered.

Derek pulled the boy against his chest, cradling him as he began to cry. “I’ll take you home, okay?”

Stiles shook his head viciously. “No, no, please,” he sobbed. “I can’t let my dad see me like this.”

“Okay, okay,” Derek whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against Stiles’ tussled hair. “You can stay at my place tonight.”

Derek sat up, carefully positioning the boy in his lap as he shoved the empty cans and bottles back into Stiles’ bag. He tossed the bag over his shoulder before bundling the boy up in his arms. He rose to his feet and wove his way back through the forest.

He heard Stiles whimper weakly as he nuzzled Derek’s neck, the boy’s breath slowing as he fell asleep in Derek’s arms.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Stiles leapt into his Jeep, tossing his lacrosse stick, sports bag and backpack into the back. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The car spluttered and rumbled to life.

He waved goodbye to Scott who stood out outside the bright blue doors of the school.

He reversed out of the parking space and straightened the wheel, tapping his fingers to Spice Girls’ ‘Wannabe’ as it began to play on the radio. He moved his shoulders and muttered the words to himself, delighted by the fact that no one was around to see.

As he drove towards the exit of the carpark a dark figure stumbled onto the road, hand extended as if to halt him. Stiles slammed on the breaks. The axles screeched as he pulled to a stop, the bonnet pressing against the man’s hand.

Stiles shuddered, adrenaline kicking in as he realised he was struggling to breathe.

There was a flash of red and a heavy thud as the man collapsed against the dull blue bonnet and toppled to the ground.

Stiles grabbed at the door handle, hands trembling as he leapt out of his car and ran to the man.

“Derek?” he gasped.

He dropped to the man’s side, quivering as he tried to put pressure against the torn flesh. His grey shirt and leather jacket were torn, smeared with bright red blood.

Stiles swallowed hard, struggling to hold down the rising bile.

Derek’s golden flesh was drained, now deathly pale. Droplets of blood dripped from his lips. He wasn’t breathing right. He was wheezing, limbs quivering as he struggled to draw breath.

Stiles’ eyes stung with tears, lips trembling as he ran through his First Aid training.

“Derek?” He gently shook the man.

Derek groaned.

“Oh, good, you’re conscious. We have to get you to a hospital,” he gasped, slowly lifting the man off the ground. He dragged the man over to his car, the toes of Derek’s thick leather boots dragging against the asphalt. He lifted him into the passenger seat.

“No hospitals,” Derek grumbled.

“Then what’s your brilliant solution?” Stiles yelped as he stripped off his hoodie and wrapped it around the beta’s shredded torso before sliding the seatbelt across him and into place.

“Home,” Derek uttered.

Stiles slid into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the parking lot.

Derek wheezed and cough, blood trickling from his lips.

Stiles glared across the Jeep’s cabin towards the man. “Derek, tell me the truth. Are you dying?”

Derek didn’t reply.

“Hmm? Are you dying?!”

Derek’s head lulled from side to side. He sagged forward, weak.

“Derek?!” Stiles barked.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Alpha wounds…”

“Alpha-?” Stiles interjected, hands tightening around the steering wheel. “You fought the alpha? Again?!” Stiles barked, jaw clenched and teeth grinding.

“I tried,” Derek gasped, shifting in his seat. His eyes lit up blue and he bit into his lip as the flesh around the smaller wounds began to draw closed. Air hissed between his teeth as he continued, “I almost had them when that bitch of a beta jumped me.” Derek fell back against the seat, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Derek!”

“Just… drive.”

“Derek,” Stiles growled as he drove across town. “Don’t you _dare_ die on me!”

 

#

 

Stiles stumbled as he dragged Derek upstairs. He laid a towel across the bed and set Derek down atop the mattress. He tore away the remaining strips of Derek’s shirt and hurried into the bathroom. He tugged at the edge of the mirror, hearing the magnets give way as the cupboard opened. He grabbed the First Aid kit and some damp towels, running back to Derek’s side. His hands quivered as he ignited the cigarette lighter and waved the needle in the heat of the flame. He held his breath and tried to still his hands as he threaded the needle and began to stitch the gashes of flesh back together.

“Derek, please,” Stiles muttered under his breath, wiping away the blood that poured from the man’s wounds. “Please don’t die.”

It felt like hours.

Everything was red and smelt of copper and iron.

He pressed gauzes to Derek’s chest and wound bandages around his ribs to hold them in place.

He watched as dark swirls seeped into the bandages.

He gently rolled Derek onto his side and set him down among the bedsheets. He tossed the bloody towels into the bathtub, rinsing them and leaving them to soak in the water. He put the First Aid kit back in the cupboard behind the bathroom mirror and washed his hands.

Stiles stepped back into the room, feeling his stomach knot at how weak and vulnerable Derek looked.

He slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor and pulling his knees close to his chest. He fumbled with his phone and quickly typed out a text to his father.

 

Staying at Scott’s to study tonight.

See you tomorrow.

 

He sent the message and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

He hunched his shoulders and dropped his forehead to his knees. He listened to Derek’s sleepy rasping breaths, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to ignore the sounds that swirled around him; the voices which hissed in his ears and screamed in his head.

He stayed still, curled up in the flittering shadows as he waited for Derek to wake.

 

#

 

The man stirred, groaning as he tried to sit up.

Stiles leapt up, bouncing to Derek’s side. He pressed his hand against Derek’s shoulder, gently urging him to lay back against the pillows.

“I can’t believe you’d be so stupid and throw your life away so recklessly,” Stiles cried.

Derek slumped back against the bed. “What does it matter?”

Stiles reared back. “’What does it matter’? You nearly died!”

“I did it for you.”

Stiles felt rage boil in his blood. “That’s the problem. You shouldn’t have to do it for me. You shouldn’t have to risk your life for me. The problem is you don’t care about getting hurt, but do you know how I’d feel? I’d be devastated. And if you died I would literally go out of freaking mind.”

“Why do you care so much?” Derek growled.

“Because I love you,” Stiles blurted out.

Derek turned his wide eyes to the boy. “What did you just say?”

Stiles swallowed hard. “I said…” He hesitated, anxiety flooding his body. His voice croaked a little as he said, “I love you.”

“No,” Derek murmured. “You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

Derek dragged his hands down his face. “You can’t.”

“I do,” Stiles repeated, his voice strained and forceful.

“Stiles, you can’t!” Derek glared at him. “You can’t love me.”

Stiles’ vision was blurred by the hot tears which brewed behind the dark bars of his eyelashes. “Why not?!”

“Because everyone near me gets hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“Stiles-”

“I love you.”

Derek shook his head. “Stiles, stop.”

“I _love_ you,” he repeated, voice strong.

“Stop it! Just stop! You’re seventeen years old, Stiles, you don’t know what love is!” Derek locked his jaw, frowning. “Go home, Stiles.”

“But-”

“Go!”

Stiles felt the tears stream down his face as he turned and ran. He sprinted downstairs and jumped into his car. He revved the engine, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket as he span the wheels and sped away.

He sniffed, blinking the tears out of his eyes and ignoring the warmth that streaked his cheeks. He squinted against the glaring headlights, eyes drawn to the inky black night.

He stopped at the intersection onto the road into town, checking for cars. His phone buzzed against his thigh, startling him. He pulled it out of the tight denim pocket, watching as Derek’s name flashed across the screen. He tossed the phone onto the chair beside him, sniffing back a second wave of tears as he pulled onto the paved road

The rumble of his engine failed to drown out the sound of the vibrating phone.

Stiles blinked back the blur of tears, peering through the pulsating waves of rain which lashed his car. The windscreen wipers screeched across the glass as they frantically swatted away the thrashing droplets.

The buzzing phone rattled in his brain. He pulled up to the glaring red traffic lights on the outskirts of town, taking a moment to stuff the phone into the front pocket of his bag where the canvas muffled the vibrations.

The lights changed to green and he lowered his foot to the accelerator. The car sputtered as it stalled. Stiles swore under his breath, quickly restarting the engine and driving forward.

There was a blinding light.

The air was split by the loud screech of failing breaks as loud and deafening as a banshee’s scream.

There was a crunch and a crack and for a moment Stiles wasn’t sure whether it had been metal or bone.

He felt weightless. The seatbelt slammed against his sternum, winding him. His body was tossed about as shards of glass twinkled around him, dotting his vision like the stars in the sky.

Droplets of blood glistened like rubies before his eyes.

He felt as if he could reach out and touch them. He wanted too, but he couldn’t more his arms.

It seemed so unearthly; a second of time drawn out to minutes.

He slowly let go of his breath, feeling reality hit him hard as the cabin of the Jeep wound itself around the thick metal post, slamming to a violent halt.

His head lolled against the metal frame of the window, small shards of glass pressing into his temples.

Rain belted his skin, stinging his flesh as all feeling drained away from his body. The heavy droplets rattled against the buckled metal of his car. But the world fell silent.

The headlights of the Jeep flickered, pulsating like an electrocardiograph’s bouncing line, a weak heartbeat that desperately clung to life.

He looked up at the traffic lights.

The green light flickered blue, the faded to yellow. The glow reflected in his eyes as his irises instinctively ignited with an unhuman glow.

His eyelids felt heavy, fluttering shut as the sweet scent of flowery perfume drifting through the air.

“Mum,” he rasped.

He slumped against the restraint of his seatbelt.

His phone toppled down against the plush cushion of the front seat.

The screen lit up.

 

Derek Hale

Missed Call (6)

 

Call Voicemail.

You have (6) new voice message(s).

 

It began to buzz again.

 

Incoming Call:

Derek Hale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I hate myself.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Derek burst into the hospital, leather boots scuffing the polished floor as he slid across the squeaky linoleum and halted at the front desk.

“I’m here for Stiles Stilinski,” he panted.

“I’ll handle this, Julia,” a soft voice interrupted as gentle hands ushered him aside. “I’m Melissa McCall, Scott’s mum, Stiles’ secondary carer, and head nurse. And I’m sorry but we can’t disclose any details unless your family or relations.”

He felt sick. The world was spinning, his stomach was churning and he failed to draw air into his lungs. His heart was racing as he lifted his glimmering eyes to Melissa and begged, “Can you please just tell me what happened?”

Derek noticed the glimmer of pain that dwelled in her eyes as she took a moment to hold her breath. She exhaled heavily. “A tuck lost control on the wet roads just outside of town and ran a red light, collecting Stiles and his Jeep as it did. The truck driver called an ambulance immediately and Stiles was brought in in a critical condition. He’s still in the operating room... I’ll let you know as soon as he’s stable, alright?”

Derek ran his hands through his wet hair. “This is all my fault. This is all my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Derek.”

“He wouldn’t have been in that car if I had just told him the truth,” Derek cried.

Melissa glanced over her shoulder as if to check whether they were being watched. She nibbled at her lip, waiting for a couple of nurses to shuffle pass and a doctor to collect a clipboard of papers from the front desk, discussing something with another nurse as they disappeared around the corner of the hallway.

Melissa kept her voice low as she said, “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but obviously you’re closer to Stiles than I thought. He’s still in a critical condition but the doctors should be able to stabilise him soon. We ran an x-ray to see if there was any cranial damage, cerebral haemorrhaging, or internal bleeding to his head and something stood out.”

Derek fell still. His throat closed over and his stomach boiled and twisted.

Melissa continued, “When he’s stable we’re going to run some tests and an MRI scan, but until then do you know whether Stiles has been having nightmares recently?”

Derek nodded. “He has.”

“Has he been restless and unable to sleep or sleepwalking?”

Derek nodded again.

“Has he been hallucinating, seeing or hearing things that might not have been real or having panic attacks?”

Derek bit his lip. “Panic attacks, yes. But I’m not sure about hallucinations or anything.” It was as if the walls around him shattered and reality flooded in. “No… no, no…”

Derek stumbled backwards, his voice snagged in his throat as panic seeped into his blood. He breathing became rapid and tears stung his eyes.

Melissa caught his arm and carefully guided him into a chair.

He collapsed against the soft blue cushions, hanging his head in his hands as he struggled to breathe.

She crouched down in front of him. “We’re not completely sure yet. We’re going to keep him under supervision and run the tests. But so far the results we do have show that it is… most likely…” Her lips began to tremble as she too struggled to hold back tears.

“Melissa,” a nurse, interrupted, waving to her from across the hall.

“I’ll be right back.” She whispered, patting Derek’s shoulder as she rose to her feet and left.

He stared at the floor, watching the glistening gems of his tears fall tot eh floor, splattering against the polished surface. He listened to soft mutters, hushed voices and the shuffle of canvas shoes against the linoleum.

Melissa returned to his side, kneeling down before him. “Stiles is in a stable condition. They’re moving him to a private room now.” She shook her head as if defeated by some drawn out argument. “If you want, you can sit with him for a little while as I do my rounds.”

Derek nodded and looked at her gratefully. “Please,” he whispered.

Melissa helped him to his feet and led him down the halls to the small private room.

Derek froze in the doorway, looking down at the boy’s crippled form. His eyes were swollen, shut and bruised. A thick pipe helped air flow in and out of his lungs. The machine it was connected to hissed and clunked as it pumped the oxygen into him. His deathly pale skin was marred by heavy red mark and scattered gashes. His frail arms sat atop the white sheets, the ghostly tone of his skin bleeding in to the cotton. Thick bandages were coiled around his arms, ribs and forehead. An IV ran down into his forearm, slowly dripping water and whole blood into his veins.

The machines beeped and whined. A thin green line spiking across the screen of the monitor, leaping into the air like a ballerina across a stage. A sign that the boy was alive.

Derek slowly crept over to his side, taking the boy’s hand in his. He heard the door shut with a quiet hush as Melissa left the two alone.

“I’m so sorry, Stiles,” Derek whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

He sighed, sinking down into the chair beside the bed. He ran the ball of his thumb over Stiles’ bony knuckles. “I’m an idiot, I’ll admit that. A coward, too. I was just so scared of you getting hurt… and now look at where you are… I kept trying to treat you like a kid or a friend, but I don’t see you that way.” He gently squeezed Stiles’ hand. “You’re more than that to me.” He leant in close and pressed a soft kiss to the boy’s forehead. He lowered his lips to Stiles’ ear and whispered four soft words: “I love you, Stiles.”


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

Stiles tried to open his eyes, fluttering his lashes and squinting against the glaring light overhead. His vision was blocked by the thick oxygen mask that was strapped across his face. His breath fogged against the plastic and his throat was hoarse and dry.

He saw shadows flitter in front of me. He turned his eyes towards them, blinking past the blur to make out the tangle of dark curls.

He moved his lips to talk but barely managed a weak whimper.

Motherly eyes darted up to him.

“Hey, kiddo,” Melissa cooed, smiling. “How do you feel?”

Stiles blinked heavily and groaned again. “Wa…er…”

“Water?” Melissa reiterated.

Stiles nodded slightly.

“Okay,” she whispered. She sat down by his side, tilting his bed up and shifting the oxygen mask. She half-filled a thin, white plastic cup with water and brought it to his chapped lips. His quivering jaw chased the rim, sighing as the cool liquid rolled down his throat.

“More?” she asked.

Stiles nodded.

She half-filled the cup again and let him drink it slowly. As she set the cup down he offered her a weak smile, but it faltered.

“It’s going to hurt for a little while,” she told him, honestly. “The pain killers should kick in soon, so just try and sleep it off.”

He turned his head, looking down at the other presence in the room. He groaned again, getting Melissa’s attention.

Melissa turned her eyes away from the medical equipment, looking at the boy.

“He’s been here all night,” Melissa informed him. She watched Stiles’ hand gently squeeze Derek’s, fingers trembling with strain and heading no result. She leant forward and shook Derek’s shoulder. The man jolted upright, looking at her with wide hazel eyes.

Stiles gently squeezed Derek’s hand again, this time eliciting a response from the man. His glittering eyes turned to the boy, relief and joy flooding his face.

Melissa smiled softly at him, quickly casting a glance at Stiles – who failed to turn his eyes away from Derek – before leaving the two alone in the quiet room.

“Hey,” he started, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards with a smile. But his expression soon fractured, guilt seeping through the cracks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Stiles rasped.

“This is all my fault.” Derek hung his head.

“No, it’s not,” he slurred. Stiles strained his muscles, feeling the cool relief of pain killers deep into his blood as he lifted his arm and gently patted Derek’s head. “Cheer up, Sour Wolf. I’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know about that,” Derek mumbled. He wanted to tell him the truth, as much as it hurt the boy. “It’s a new moon, Stiles, you can’t even heal the skin deep wounds. On top of that you’re...”

“Damaged?” Stiles offered.

“They’re going to run and MRI just to be sure.”

Stiles glanced up at him, dark eyes searching his composure for fractures - - leaks of emotion. “You know what they’re looking for, right?”

Derek nodded, biting his lip and remaining silent.

“It’s called frontotemporal dementia. It’s when areas of your brain start to shrink… it’s… it’s what my mother had.”

Derek looked pained, his pale eyes shifting colour in the bright light of the room.

“It’s the only form of dementia that can hit teenagers.” Stiles kept his eyes down, lips trembling around his words. “And there’s no cure.”

“No.” Derek shook his head violently, leaping to his feet and pacing across the room. “That’s bullshit.”

“Derek-”

“We don’t know that,” Derek growled. He gnawed at his lip, bracing himself against the end of the bed as he spoke. “Stiles, I’ll… We’ll work something out.”

Stiles looked at him. He noticed the glimmer in his eyes. The pain. The guilt.

“It’s not your fault, Derek,” he whispered. “I tried to ignore it.”

“What do you mean?”

Stiles swallowed hard. Derek watched the flicker of pain pass through the coffee brown eyes which stared at him intently. “The nightmares, sleepwalking, voices, insomnia, black outs, panic attacks, headaches… I knew it was there. I just tried to ignore it.”

Derek sighed and bit into his lip. “Stiles, if you were a beta you could heal.”

Stiles levelled his eyes with the man, his expression serious. “I’d rather die an omega.”

 

#

 

Stiles tossed about in his sleep, his pale face pinched in pain as the painkillers began to wear off. He whimpered, trembling fingers clawing at the sheets. Tears streamed down his cheeks, dampening the pale, torn flesh.

Derek stirred at the sound of the boy’s whimpers. He lifted his head off of the back of the chair and sighed. The sight of Stiles’ pain tore at his heart.

He slid his palm over Stiles’ hand, running his thumb across his knuckles. He gently squeezed the boy’s hand. He felt his blood run faster through his veins as he took the boy’s pain. His veins darkened and bulged against his skin.

Heat tore through his body, tearing at his muscles and his organs.

Derek bit into his lips, grinding his teeth together. His eyes flashed blue. It took every ounce of strength he had in him to hold his roar in his lungs. A low rumble tore through his throat.

Stiles held his breath, the tension leaving his body as he settled back against the soft, plump pillows.

Derek let go of the Stiles’ hand, slumping back against the cushion of the chair. He panted, trying to steady his breath as the adrenaline coursed through his veins and the pain subsided. The heating of the room didn’t stop him from shivering as a cold sweat rolled over his body. The glow of his eyes dimmed as he looked down at the boy in shock and whispered, “How does he take that much pain?”


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

The door thumped back against the wall as Sheriff Stilinski barged into the room. He glared at Derek.

“Get out,” he barked.

Derek obediently rose from his seat, halted by the weak grip on his hand. He turned his attention to Stiles who pleadingly whispered, “Stay.”

Derek looked down at him apologetically, gently squeezing his hand in return and leaving the room. Stiles watched him through the narrow gaps in the blinds. Derek collapsed into a chair in the hallway, bracing his elbows against his knees and dropping his head to his hands.

“Stiles,” his father started.

“Dad, I know,” Stiles interrupted, turning his eyes to the old man. “I know what’s wrong with me and I’m okay with it. What I’m not okay with is how you treat Derek. He’s not a bad guy, Dad,” His voice weakened to a croak. “He’s not a criminal like you think he is. He didn’t burn down his house. He didn’t kill his family. He didn’t give me dementia. And he didn’t crash my car! So stop acting like everything’s his fault!”

Stiles turned his face away, listening to the screaming monitors as tears streamed down his marred cheeks.

“Stiles,” his father tried again, voice even softer.

“Get out,” Stiles growled through gritted teeth.

“Stiles.”

“I said get out!”

Stilinski dropped his head, turning and backing out of the room. He closed the door behind him, feeling his heart sink at the sound of his son’s pained cries. Even more so when he peered through the venetian blinds and caught sight of Stiles weakly clinging to Melissa’s robes as she gently rocked him, his tear-stained face buried in the curve of her shoulder.

Stilinski sighed and slumped down in the hallway chair next to Derek. He rested his elbows on his knees and wove his fingers together, glaring at the callous, worn digits. He stared at the golden ring wrapped around his finger as he spoke. “Eight years ago I was at the end of a shift, just like today, when a call came in. They told me my wife was back in the hospital and in a critical condition. They said she wouldn’t last the night. When I got there, I found Stiles sitting in the waiting room with his head in his hands. He was with Claudia when she died, and I wasn’t. And then today, I got a call to tell me that Stiles had been in a car crash and was in hospital in a critical condition with signs of what could possibly be frontotemporal dementia… I felt sick. I was scared that if I came here he’d be dead. And I would have – yet again – missed my chance to say goodbye… to tell him I love him.” Stilinski blinked back his tears, gnawing at his lip, a habit that his son had obviously picked up from him. “But I just keep screwing up so much that he probably wouldn’t believe me if I did tell him.”

Derek looked at him, noticing how vulnerable and broken the man looked.

“I’m scared of losing him.”

“I’m not trying to take him away from you,” Derek whispered, looking the man in the eye. “I want to help you keep him safe, just like you… The last thing I want to do is hurt Stiles.”

 

#

 

Stiles sat on the edge of the bench, shifting nervously as the cool breeze of the air conditioned room rolled under the thin blue robe. He wove his fingers together and set his hands in his lap. He tried to breathe easily.

Derek sighed, shifting on the spot. He bit into his lip, rubbing at his thin beard with his fingers before folding his arms over his chest again.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered, getting the man’s attention. “It’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know how you do it… how you face this so bravely,” Derek sighed, awed by the boy’s soft smile.

“I’m not brave,” Stiles whispered. “I was just… expecting this.”

Derek’s jade eyes flickered with pain. “I wasn’t.”

Stiles dropped his gleaming eyes and sighed, turning his gaze back to the man. “Derek, if you walk away now, I promise I won’t hate you for it. I’m a ticking time bomb.”

Derek unfolded his arms, laying a hand atop Stiles’. The other hand cupped the back of Stiles’ skull as he craned his neck and pressed as soft kiss against the boy’s tussled hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Stiles exhaled heavily, tilting his head against Derek’s chest.

“… Except behind that glass.”

Stiles chuckled. He brushed his cheek against Derek’s shirt. He inhaled the distinct musky scent, praying that he will never forget that smell. He turned his head, resting his chin on Derek’s chest and looking up at him. He smiled and mouthed ‘I love you’.

Derek smiled, eyes glittering as he mouthed ‘I love you too’ in return.

“Okay, Stiles, are you ready?” the technician asked as he entered the room.

Derek stepped back, allowing the technician to step between them and talk to the boy. The slender man moved over to the control panel and pressed a few buttons, speaking to Stiles as he did. “Just lie back and get yourself comfortable.” He turned to Derek. “If you’d like to follow me.”

Stiles smiled weakly as he laid back and rested his head against the small pillow.

“Now, there’s going to be a bit of noise, like banging on pipes, but that’s just the ions moving through the machine,” the technician announced over the small p.a. system. “Try to stay as still as you can. It won’t take long. Forty minutes at most.”

“You obviously aren’t aware of my inability to focus and hyperactivity,” Stiles jested as the motor buzzed and the bench slid into the machine. The lights blinded him as the bench halted. The machine began to power up, clattering and banging like war drums.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, well aware that this was his death sentence.

In the small booth, Derek held his breath, watching swirls of blue, red and yellow flash across the screen.

Melissa rested her hand on the Sheriffs shoulder, watching as the hope drained from his eyes and the shadows rolled in.

It seemed like forever. Each minute painfully dragged out.

“See those spots?” The technician pointed at the dark sections of the MRI scan. “They’re the sections in his brain that are showing signs of atrophy.”

Stilinski ran his hand over his face, sniffing back tears. He sighed, hope draining from his worn features as he muttered, “Atrophy.”

Derek glanced down at the medical file beside him. A printed MRI scan lay among the scattered papers. It was identical to Stiles’ scan. Derek shifted the papers with a finger, reading the typed label that covered the file.

Stilinski, Claudia.

“No,” he whispered under his breath. Derek backed up towards the door, his legs trembling as his knees threatened to give way beneath him.

“I’m sorry,” the technician offers, leaving the room. “I’ll give you a moment,” the technician whispered before leaving the room. He joined Stiles in the larger room, helping the boy sit upright on the bench and testing his motor skills and reflexes.

“It looks just like his mother’s,” Stilinski sighed. He looked up through the glass watching as his son sat on the edge of the bench, swinging his feet and rubbing his hands.

Melissa rested her hand on the Sheriffs back, tipping her forehead against her friend’s arm.

“I’ll go talk to Stiles,” Derek whispered.

Melissa offered him a thankful smile before turning back to her old friend.

Derek balled his fists, burying his trembling hands in his pockets as he stepped into the room, dragging his feet as he made his way over to Stiles’ side.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?” the boy asked abruptly.

Derek stayed silent.

“That’s as good of an answer as any.” He turned his warm chocolate eyes to Derek. “It’s okay.”

Derek shook his head, tears brimming in his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“Derek,” Stiles said firmly. “It’s okay. It’s not scary anymore… It’s actually kind of peaceful.”

Stiles reached out, tugging at Derek’s shirt with his small hands. Derek stepped closer, winding his arms around the boy and holding him close. Derek drew back as Sheriff Stilinski and Melissa joined them.

The old man’s eyes were red from tears. He ran his hand through his thinning hair before bracing them on his hips.

It pained him to see his father this way.

“Dad, I want you to promise me something,” Stiles said, blinking back his tears. “When you go home tonight I want you to swear to me that you will not touch that bottle, not one drop.” Stiles saw the tears well in his father’s eyes. “I’ll be okay, Dad. I’m going to be okay.”


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Sheriff Stilinski stepped into the small hospital room, looking down at his son’s peaceful sleeping face. He glanced over at Derek, who hadn’t yet noticed the man’s presence – or if he had, he didn’t make any effort to take his intent gaze away from Stiles.

Stilinski dropped his gaze to Derek’s hands, his elegantly slender fingers entwined with Stiles’.

“Tell me, Derek, how long exactly have you been dating my son?”

“What?” Pale eyes darted up to meet his tired gaze. A flicker of panic darted through Derek’s eyes as he tried to find his breath again. He turned his face away from the Sheriff and shook his head. “I’m not - - why would you think? - - I’m not dating Stiles.”

“The condom wrappers in the trash, his patterns of sleepwalking and the number of nights he spends at your place, his whereabouts on the night of the crash, the fact that you’ve spent every minute by his bedside, and the fact that you’re not looking me in the eye would suggest that you are,” the older man replied somewhat amused. “Or is there something else to put into consideration that would lead to you not wanting to date my son?”

“You mean aside from the fact that he’s seventeen?”

Stilinski chuckled slightly and shook his head. “Derek, I’m not going to shoot you or lock you up in jail because you’re dating Stiles.”

“I might if I were you,” Derek muttered under his breath.

A soft whimper distracted them. Derek’s eyes darted back to Stiles’ face as he twitched in his sleep, tears gathering on his fluttering eyelashes.

Derek slid his palm atop Stiles’ hand, gently brushing the ball of his thumb across his smooth, freckled skin. The boy settled at the warm touch, his breathings slowing as his body relaxed and he sank back against the crisp white sheets. Derek sighed, taking the boy’s hand in his own.

He could feel Stilinski’s smug gaze burning holes in his skull.

“Okay,” Derek admitted in defeat. “We’re… together - - in some sense. We haven’t had sex or done anything illegal-”

“Derek, look at me,” Stilinski whispered.

Derek held his breath and turned to look at the man’s weary face.

Stilinski stepped forward, resting a comforting hand on Derek’s broad shoulder. “I’m not going to order you to stay away from my son – I made that mistake once and I’m not going to do it again. Stiles obviously cares about you. He feels safe with you, and right now… We’ll do everything we can to keep him happy, but the fact of the matter is: the only thing we can do is keep him comfortable. The test results suggest that he only has a few weeks to live, a couple of months if we’re lucky. But until then…”

Stilinski’s voice dropped away.

“We’ll work something out,” Derek said, his voice strained as he refused to give up hope.

“There’s nothing we _can_ do, Derek,” Stilinski whispered, tears falling across his cheeks.

Derek looked up at the man, determination sparking in his eyes. “I’m not giving up on him.”


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

“He’s a lot better today,” Melissa stated with a smile as Sheriff Stilinski walked into the hospital, offering her a bag of takeout for dinner. She took it gratefully, mouthing ‘thank you’ as she hid it behind the front desk and ushered him down the hallway. “He’s back to his bubbly self.”

She opened the door for him.

He halted and smiled at the sight of his son, sitting upright against the plump pillows. Many of his smaller cuts had healed and a flush of colour had returned to his cheeks. A bright smile lit up his face as he chuckled, looking at Derek with glittering eyes.

Derek caught sight of the man, smiled at Stiles and rose from his seat to leave.

Stilinski caught his arm, keeping his eyes on his son as he whispered, “Stay.”

Derek nodded and a flash of a smile passed over his lips as he returned to his seat.

Stilinski moved over to the bed, sitting down by his son’s feet as he set a second bag of takeout on the small tray table.

Stiles’ eyes opened wide. His bright smile growing into a goofy grin.

“Got some good news for you, kiddo,” Stilinski announced as he pulled out the containers of warm food followed by three bowls and chop sticks.

“Better than this?” Stiles asked, rummaging through the tubs for the honey chicken.

The Sheriff offered a bowl to Derek who looked back at him with confusion before taking it. He handed the second bowl to Stiles before opening the containers and continuing. “You’re heading home tomorrow. You’ll need a few more days of bed rest before you can head back to school, but nonetheless you’re being discharged.”

“Oh great,” Stiles said sarcastically, shovelling food into his mouth. “I can catch up on all the homework that Scott has apparently been stocking up for me.”

Stiles notices the flicker of worry across his father’s face.

“What?” he asked.

The Sheriff sighed. “A new case has just come up and an investigation into the functions of my unit means that I’ll have to work overtime and I just don’t like the thought of you being home alone. In case something happens.”

“If you want, I can stay with him during the days,” Derek offered, jabbing his fork into a piece of honey chicken, snatching it from the container and smiling at Stiles’ shocked expression. “Or he could stay over at my place a few nights if you have to work late. That way he has company and someone there if something were to happen.”

Stiles looked between the men, a strip of battered meat hanging from his lips.

His father turned to his son, raising his creased brow. “If you’re okay with that.”

Stiles nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay then,” Sheriff Stilinski smiled. He pointed an accusing finger at Stiles. “But you _have_ to do your homework.”

Stiles nodded again, swallowing a mouthful of food before saying, “I promise.”

 

#

Stiles walked slowly though the front door, using the thick frame to support his weigh as he lifted his feet up over the slight step.

He crept into the kitchen, noticing the collection of his belongings scattered across the dining table. His shattered phone, torn backpack, crumpled books, scattered pieces of paper – ruined by rain and splattered blood – and his drink bottle. At the other end of the table was a neatly stacked pile of notes and worksheets. Stiles had a look at them, noticing the scattered Post-It Notes with black ink scrawled across them in Scott’s messy handwriting and the occasional cursive of a teacher. He patted the stack of paper. “Thanks, Scott.”

He continued into the kitchen, collecting a clean glass from the sink. He tightened his weak grip on the plastic cup, holding it under the trickling steam of water. He filled it and gulped down the refreshingly cool liquid.

“Stiles,” his father’s voice called from the other room. “Got a minute?”

Stiles set down the glass and slowly wove his way back through the dining room and into the lounge room where he found his father seated in his favourite old patched armchair with his elbows braced against his knees.

Stiles cautiously crept into the room, sitting down on the arm of the couch.

His father nodded towards the cushion of the couch. “Sit down, kiddo. We need to talk.”

Stiles felt his stomach knot and his throat tighten as he slid down onto the worn grey felt.

“Stiles,” he started softly, taking a moment to gather his words. “I know you’ve been having a lot of nightmares recently, and I just want to know whether there’s something you want to talk about.”

Stiles held his breath as he shook his head. He had trained himself to avoid tells when lying.

_Don’t blink. Don’t twitch. Don’t move._

Stilinski slouched back against the back of his chair, running his hand over his face. “Seventeen years and you still think you can lie to me?”

Stiles’ shoulders dropped. He breathed deeply before speaking. “The nightmares are nothing and I’m not sleepwalking that much, just once or twice.”

“Eight times this month,” his father corrected him.

Stiles bit at his lip, his head rocking and nodding as he spoke. “Well, five of those times I deliberately walked somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Derek’s,” Stiles admitted.

His father exhaled sharply. “Okay, why do you keep lying to me?”

“Lying?”

“You told me you were at Scott’s the night of the crash. Why?”

Stiles opened his mouth to speak but opted to bite his lips shut and hold his breath.

Stilinski noticed the glimmer in his son’s eyes, soon followed by the tremor in his lip that was a dead giveaway. His voice was soft as he looked his son in the eye. “Stiles.”

“I… I didn’t want to risk you hating me if you knew,” he rasped.

Stilinski leant forward. “Knew what?”

“I’m gay.”

There was a moment of silence, dragged out longer than Stiles had hoped. It was heavy, muggy and painful.

When his father spoke, his voice seemed strained - almost shocked - as he simply said, “Gay?”

Stiles nodded. “I’m in love with Derek Hale.” Stiles bit his lip, tears falling freely. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I was scared you’d hate me.”

Stilinski stood up from his chair and sat down next to his son. He pulled the boy into his strong arms. He gently rocked to boy, listening to his sobbed apologies.

“Stiles,” he whispered into the boy’s ruffled hair. Stiles weakened in his father’s hold. “You are my son and I love you.”


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

“How much do you want me to shave off?” Derek asked, running his fingers through Stiles’ thick hair and smoothing out the soft locks to judge their length.

“All of it,” Stiles replied in a hushed tone, sliding up onto the bathroom bench. He slid about on the faded teal towel that covered the laminated top as he turned to face Derek. He swung his legs, heels gently thumping against the cupboard.

Derek paused, almost saddened by the boy’s decision. “Are you sure?”

Stiles nodded slightly. “If it grows back, that means I’ll get better, right?”

Derek didn’t know how to respond to that. He sighed and gently ruffled the boy’s hair – God, he was going to miss that.

“Okay,” Stiles whispered. “Will a trim and an undercut be better?”

Derek smiled, kissing the boy’s forehead. He brought over the hair clippers, turning them on and listening to the wiring motor. He brought the buzzing blades to the back of Stiles’ head.

Stiles felt the blades tug at his hair.

His feet fell still.

He felt tears burn his eyes as his father’s voice flooded his mind.

“It’s you… It’s all you.”

It was a memory – a memory of a hallucination to be exact – but it seemed so real.

His father stumbled about, waving the half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. His eyes and cheeks were flushed red as he spat the slurred words, saliva dribbling from his lips. “You know, every day I saw her lying in that hospital slowly dying I thought ‘how the hell am I supposed to raise this stupid kid on my own? This hyperactive little _bastard_ that keeps _ruining_ my life’.”

The tears grew hotter, heavier.

Stiles could hear the whiskey slosh in the bottle, crashing waves of golden liquor. He could smell it on his father, on the black suit that he had worn to the funeral.

“It’s you, _Stiles_. You killed your mother, you hear me? You killed her. And now you’re killing me.”

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice brought him back to reality. The man crouched before him, his warm hand cupping the boy’s cheek. The ball of his thumb brushed against the freckled skin, smearing the tear which caressed his cheek. Crystal green eyes focused on the boy. “Why are you crying?”

“I was just thinking,” he whispered.

“About what?”

Stiles turned his head, blinking back tears. “About how much better everyone’s lives would be if I were to die.”

Derek’s face fell, featured warped by shock and what seemed to be a glint of pain.

“My mother thought I was a monster trying to kill her. My father became an alcoholic after her death and still – to this day – thinks that I killed her. Scott wouldn’t have to usher me around, protect me or waste his time with me. He’d have more time for what’s important to him: Allison. And you…” His voice dropped away for a moment. “You wouldn’t have to protect me like the stupid child I am.” Stiles’ lips quivered as tears fell from his face. “So, just tell me, Derek, what’s the point of me being alive?”

“Stiles…” Derek’s gruff voice faltered. “I wish I could show you how I see you… If only I could show you what you mean to me. What you mean to your father. To Scott. To your mother... You mean everything to us.”

“Do I?” Stiles whimpered. He bit his lip and looked away. “When I was six, I ran away from home in hope that I could just disappear for a little while. I hid in the playground by the park. I was cold and alone, and stupid enough to think that someone was looking for me, that someone was coming for me. I was there the whole night, waiting for my mum or my dad to find me, to hug me and take me home where it’s warm and tell me that everything would be okay… but no one came for me. No one even noticed I was missing… A couple of days after my mum’s funeral, I did it again. I ran and I hid because I was scared and alone. I was there for two whole days and no one came to find me. Do you know what that felt like? Like I was abandoned. Like I was invisible. Like no one cared.”

Derek was stunned into silence, watching the glistening tears roll down Stiles’ cheeks.

“Maybe it would be better if I died,” Stiles whispered. “Because that way I don’t have to sit and wait, wondering whether anyone’s coming to find me… because I know no-one will.”

“I will,” Derek whispered, his own eyes flooded with fear and pain. He rose to his feet and pressed a soft kiss against the boy’s forehead. “Always.”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ slender waist, lifting him into his arms and carrying him downstairs and out onto the balcony. He set the boy down on the edge of the wooden planks, sitting down beside him and draping an arm around his shoulders.

The cool evening breeze tore through Stiles’ his thin shirt and tracksuit pants, making the boy shiver as it bit into his skin. Derek noticed and pulled the boy a little closer. He dropped his head back against Derek’s shoulder, bare feet stirring the dead leaves beneath the balcony as he stared off through the trees.

The sky bled into a dulled orange, smeared by pastel shades of pink and purple as the sun dropped beneath the horizon.

“Derek?” Stiles whispered.

“Hmm?” Derek hummed, pressing his cheek against the boy’s cropped hair.

“I’m scared.”

Derek pressed a kiss against the crown of Stiles’ head. “Me too.”

Stiles lifted his eyes to the man, captivated by the glittering peridot irises that stared back at him. Stiles tilted his chin up and brought their lips together in a tentative kiss. He drew back, waiting for Derek to pull away, but he didn’t. Instead, he chased Stiles’ mouth and kissed him back.

Derek ran his fingers through the soft mess of Stiles’ hair, massaging the top of the boy’s hair with the pads of his fingertips.

Stiles broke away from the kiss nestling his forehead into the curve of Derek’s neck.

“Derek,” the boy whispered, his warm breath rolling across the man’s skin and sending shivers down his spine. “I don’t want to do this.”

Derek craned his neck to look at the boy. “Do what?”

Stiles avoided his eyes, staring at the hand that rested in his lap. “I don’t want to end up an insane and blabbering mess. I don’t want turn on everyone I love. I don’t want to end up like my mum.”

Hot tears splashed against Derek’s skin.

“Please, promise me, that if the time comes will you help me die with whatever little dignity I still have?”

Derek was silent. He felt his throat clench as tears brewed in his own eyes. His voice croaked as he said, “I can’t do that. I can’t promise that.”

Stiles drew in a shaky breath, tears dripping from his chin and shoulders trembling as he began to sob against Derek’s warmth.

Derek pulled the boy into his arms, holding him close as he cried.

 

#

 

Derek stirred, limbs stretched across the mattress in an attempt to find the second body of warmth.

“Stiles?” he muttered into the pillow. He rolled onto his back, rubbing at his eyes with the ball of his hand.

He sat upright with a grunt, turning his eyes about and searching for the boy.

The quiet rattling and clunking of objects drew his attention. He hurled himself to his feet, making his way over to the bathroom, and catching sight of Stiles clutching a handful of what looked to be small white pebbles.

The boy lifted his hand to his mouth and tipped his head back, rolling the pills into his mouth.

Derek lunged forward, grabbing the boy by the scruff of his neck, pinching the nerve beneath his ear. He pushed him forward, holding his head over the sink.

“Spit,” he barked.

Stiles shook his head, tears staining his red cheeks.

“Spit them out!”

Stiles opened his mouth. Small white pills tinkled as they fell into against basin.

Stiles coughed and sputtered, strings of saliva dripping from his lips.

He let out a blood-curdling cry, flailing about and knocking the various pill containers and the cup of toothbrushes off the counter.

Derek pulled Stiles back into his arms, pinning his arms to his sides and dragging him away from the counter. He felt his back press against the wall as he slid down to the tiles, the boy’s kicking legs shoving the towels across the bathroom floor.

Derek smoothed down his hair, whispering softly to the boy.

“Why won’t you let me die?!” he wailed.

Derek felt his heart sink as he held the boy close.

 

#

 

When Stiles had stilled and Derek had settled him back into bed, he returned to the bathroom. He tossed the medication into the small bin, pulling the aspirin out of the cupboard to be hidden downstairs somewhere. Once he was content with his child-proofing of the house, he trudged downstairs. He rummaged through the back of the old olive cupboards, fetching a packet of cigarettes. He retired to the balcony, sitting down on the weathered boards.

He stared down at the cigarette packet, shaking one loose from packet and sitting it between his lips He pulled the lighter from its hiding place in the cardboard package and ignited it. He flicked the flame on and off before his eyes, contemplating whether or not to light the cigarette.

He gave in, bringing the light to the tip of the cigarette.

He inhaled deeply, feeling the nicotine flood his brain and smoke burn his lungs.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

The soft voice startled him.

He turned his eyes to the small figure that stood in the doorway.

“I thought I’d given up, but occasionally, I’m pushed over the edge,” Derek admitted. He looked over his shoulder at the boy. He patted the decking next to him.

Stiles crept out of the doorway and joined him. His track pants and baggy shirt rustled around his narrow limbs as he settled down next to Derek and curled against his warmth.

“It’s starting, isn’t it?” Derek whispered, inhaling a long drag on the cigarette.

Stiles sighed and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek murmured, pressing a kiss against Stiles’ head and nuzzling his face into the curve of the boy’s neck. “I’m not one to lecture you on self-destructive behaviours.”

Stiles looked up at him. “Can I try?”

Derek hesitated. He sighed and handed the boy the cigarette.

Stiles lifted it to his lips and slowly drew in a breath. He felt his throat burn, coughing slightly.

“You okay?” Derek asked.

Stiles looked up at him. “It’s not that bad. I rather like it actually.” He brought the cigarette back to his lips and inhaled deeply.

“Come here,” Derek whispered, sliding his finger under Stiles’ chin and tilting the boy’s head up. He craned his neck and brought his face close to Stiles’. His warm breath rolled across Stiles’ lips, urging his jaw to fall open. The wisps of smoke swirled out of the boy’s mouth as Derek inhaled, drawing the curls of pale smoke into his lungs.

Derek looked Stiles in the eye, watching as the boy’s dark lashes fluttered shut. He leant forward and closed the gap, sliding his tongue into Stiles’ mouth and kissing him passionately.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

“So, you’re heading back to school on Monday?” Derek asked as Stiles slowly followed him into the living room. Stiles hummed, watching as the man walked over to the old stereo system and turn it on. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Stiles replied, intently watching Derek push a CD into the machine and press play. “Much better.”

Derek smiled at him, making his way back across the room and back to Stiles’ side.

He towered over the boy by a few inches, but for some reason, Stiles no longer felt intimidated by him. His intense eyes still made his heart flutter but for a different reason now.

Derek seemed to notice the boy’s entrancement. He trailed his fingers down the boy’s thin arms. Stiles sighed at the tender touch. He slid their palms together, gently lacing his fingers with Stiles’. He lifted their intertwined hands and brought his free hand to his hip, drawing the boy closer and slowly swaying with him. Stiles’ hand looped around his shoulder as he nuzzled into Derek’s soft woollen shirt, moving to the melody of the soft music.

Derek moved with him, stepping from side to side as they slowly turned in circles and waltzed across the bare lounge room.

Derek gently pushed at Stiles’ him, spinning the boy away before tugging him back into his arms. He smiled at the delighted smile on the boy’s face and his soft chuckle as he coiled into Derek’s warmth.

Derek craned his neck and pressed his forehead against Stiles’. The boy smiled, mesmerised as Derek mouthed the lyrics, his soft pink lips moving around the words without fault.

Stiles tilted his chin up, bringing their lips together. His free hand ran up Derek’s biceps, looping around the man’s neck.

Derek ran his tongue across the boy’s lower lip, teasing his mouth open as they melted into the kiss. Stiles grabbed at the back of his jacket, deepening the kiss as warm tongues worked between them.

Stiles ground his hips against Derek’s, feeling the bulge that pressed against the man’s jeans. Derek’s hands slid down to Stiles’ ass, gently groping the soft cheeks. A moan fell from Stiles’ lips as he ground back against Derek’s hands and then against his groin again.

Derek slid his hands further down to Stiles’ calves, hoisting the boy up off the ground. Stiles wound his legs around Derek’s waist, moaning against the man’s lips as Derek kneaded his ass.

Stiles forced himself to break free of the warm kiss.

“Derek?” he gasped.

“Hmm?” he hummed as he brought his mouth to Stiles’ neck, kissing sucking and nipping at the skin. When Stiles failed to answer he pulled his lips back, breath rolling across the skin. “What is it, pup?”

Stiles shuddered at the pet name as he turned his eyes away, flustered. “I want to…”

“What?” Derek asked.

Stiles gnawed at his lip, cheeks growing red.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” Derek promised. “Just tell me what it is.”

Stiles met his gaze, grinding his crotch against Derek.

Derek lifted his brow. “Oh?”

Stiles leant in close and whispered in his ear, “Please.”

“Stiles,” Derek started, unsure of how he should answer. Did he want to have sex with Stiles? Yes. But for some reason if felt wrong to want it.

But the words that left Stiles’ mouth made his blood run cold.

“I don’t want to die a virgin.”

Stiles seemed to notice the man’s discomfort, so he quickly added, “I want this. I promise my dad won’t find out.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile, he chuckled lightly and whispered, “He’s the Sheriff, I’m sure he’ll find out one way or another.”

Derek brought their lips together again. He readjusted his grip on the boy and carried him upstairs. He set the boy down on the bed and clambered on top of him, straddling his waist as he brought their lips together again. His hands slid up Stiles’ abdomen and chest as he slowly relieved the boy of his shirt. He lifted it over his head and sat back against Stiles’ hips, stripping off his own shirt and tossing it aside.

Stiles’ eyes rolled over Derek’s exposed flesh. He licked his lips, hungry… ravenous.

Derek chuckled and brought his lips back to Stiles’. He laid a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth, trailing his lips across the boy’s cheek, jar and neck, kissing his scattered moles and freckles as he made his way down. He took his time, drinking in the taste of his flesh. He paused a few times, laying extra soft kisses or simply brushing his lips across the scars or stitched wounds.

“Derek, wait,” Stiles gasped.

Derek bolted upright. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just...” Stiles gently shoved his shoulder and rolled him over. He crawled off the end of the bed. He sank to his knees, quickly unzipped Derek’s tight jeans and dragging the denim down his legs. He smiled at the sight of Derek’s blush as he sat up on the edge of the bed. Stiles couldn’t help but smirk at the growing bulge that pressed against Derek’s boxers. He laid a kiss against the dampening cotton before sliding his fingers under the elastic band and sliding Derek’s boxers off. The man’s cock bobbed before him, hard and eager.

Stiles lifted his eyes to Derek’s, running his tongue up the man’s impressive length before lapping at the head, making Derek gasp and growl. He wrapped his hand around the base – knowing it was too big for him to take in his mouth – and sucked at the tip. He swirled his tongue around the head, sinking his mouth down to his fist. He tightened his mouth and dragged his lips back up the length, watching as Derek’s composure fractured, his face warping into an expression of bliss as his jaw fell open.

Stiles moved his hand in time with his mouth, pumping the shaft and eliciting savage moans from Derek.

Derek ran his hand through Stiles’ ruffled hair, his hips buckling slightly.

Stiles purred as he began to move quicker over Derek’s dick.

His gruff voice broke gasps and groans. “Stiles, I’m gonna…”

Stiles moaned against Derek, the vibrations tipping the man over the edge as he threw his head back and came, chocking on his breath.

Stiles slowly drew back, a string of slick semen dripping from his lips. He lifted his hand to his mouth, eyes blinking heavily as he began to choke and cough.

Derek quickly grabbed a discarded shirt and held it to Stiles’ chin.

“Spit,” he instructed.

Stiles coughed into the shirt, strings of sticky cum dripping from his chin. Derek folded the shirt and gently wiped at Stiles’ mouth with the sleeve, setting the shirt aside and looking at the boy with a worried expression.

“Are you okay, pup?”

Stiles dropped his eyes and nodded slightly. “I’m not very sexy, I know.”

“You kidding? That was sexy,” Derek admitted. “Up until you coughed.”

Stiles snickered, turning his eyes back to Derek.

Derek smiled, eyes glittering. “Do you still want to do this?”

Stiles nodded.

“Come here.” Derek slid his finger under Stiles’ chin and brought their lips together again. He brushed his fingers against the boy’s cheek and down to the back of his neck. He brushed his thumb against the edge of his shaved hairline. He gently drew the boy up off the floor and back onto the bed. Stiles followed obediently, climbing up over him and laying against his chest as Derek fell back against the mattress.

Derek ran his free hand along Stiles’ ribs and down the curve of his spine, falling still on his hips.

Stiles ground his hips against Derek’s, feeling his jeans rub against Derek’s returning erection.

Stiles pulled back, lifting a cocky eyebrow at Derek. “Are you really that excited?”

“Can’t help it,” he hummed, tilting his chin and nipping at Stiles’ lower lip. “You’re too delicious.”

Stiles purred against his lips as Derek slipped his hands down to the boy’s firm cheeks and gently kneaded his ass before sliding his nimble fingers to the front of Stiles’ jeans, his palms brushing against their abdomens as he unbuckled the belt. He pulled the button free from the hole with a quiet pop and unzipped his pants, sliding the worn blue denim down to his knees.

He rolled Stiles onto the mattress and rose to his knees. He tugged Stiles’ jeans off and dropped them to the floor. The boy’s boxers soon followed.

Derek leant forward, gently kissing Stiles before grabbing one of the pillows and sliding it beneath the protruding bones of the boy’s hips. He gently pressed against the Stiles’ knees, urging him to spread his legs.

He looked up at the warm chestnut eyes that stared at him lustrously. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered.

He ran his tongue across Stiles’ opening, listening to the boy inhale and roll his hips towards his mouth. Derek ran his hands along Stiles’ inner thighs, pinning his hips down against the pillow. He dragged his tongue across Stiles’ entrance again, stopping to swirl the tip of his tongue in slow, torturous circles.

His crotch throbbed at the sound of Stiles’ unrestrained gasps and groans.

He moved his hand up to Stiles’ precum-slick cock, gently grazing the palm of his hand against his length.

“Oh god,” Stiles gasped, unravelling before the beta as he thrashed about. “Dere-” his voice cut off by an erotic “ah!” as Derek slid his tongue into him.

Stiles’ hips twitched, indecisive of whether to roll into Derek’s hand or against his face.

Derek couldn’t help but smirk as Stiles whimpered when he withdrew his longue.

“Do you like that?” Derek asked coyly. He gently sucked at his entrance, dragging his tongue across it before quickly lapping at it. He set a pattern of slow drags, soft sucking and quick flicks of his tongue that tortured erotic gasps from the boy.

Stiles’ feet kicked and thrashed uselessly as he tried to press harder against Derek, frustrated moan filling the air as Derek lightly flicked his tongue against his entrance.

Derek could feel the boy’s cock growing harder and slicker, precum spilling from the head and dripping over his hand.

He repeated the pattern, harassing animalistic groans from Stiles as Derek dipped his tongue in and out of the opening.

Derek drew back, stepping over to his bedside table. He tossed a condom and a bottle of lube onto the mattress before returning to the boy. He paused, drinking in the sight of Stiles sprawled out before him and whimpering for his touch.

He popped open the lid of the lube and spread the cool gel across his fingers. He pressed his fingertips against Stiles’ opening, slowly massaging the tense muscle. He slipped one finger in, pushing against the pressure and resistance. He sank in one knuckle at a time, listening to Stiles’ broken cry. The boy’s trembling hands clawed at the sheets.

Derek placed a soft kiss to Stiles’ inner thigh, a rumbling growl rolling across his skin as he sunk his finger in deeper, feeling Stiles’ ass clamp around his knuckles.

“Just relax,” Derek whispered softly, easing his finger in and out of the boy.

Stiles rolled his head back and tried to slow his breathing. His teeth tore into his lip as Derek sank a second finger into him.

He waited a moment for Stiles to relax before sliding his fingers in further.

A heavy moan dragged its way out of the boy’s chest.

Derek stilled his fingers, waiting for Stiles to calm down again before curling his fingertips against Stiles’ prostate.

Stiles’ back arched off the mattress and his hips ground down against Derek’s fingers, a broken wail begging him for more.

“There?” Derek teased, slowly working his fingers back and forth and curling his tips again. He stilled his hand, spreading his fingers and torturing a cry from the boy.

Derek leant forward and pressed a kiss against Stiles’ twitching shaft. Stiles whimpered

“You make such nice noises,” Derek purred.

Stiles moaned and gasped, “Oh, God, Derek!”

Derek withdrew his fingers. He reached across the bed and grabbed the condom from where it had fallen on the rippling sheets, dipping down to gently kiss and nip at Stiles’ neck.

As he sat back, he caught Stiles’ gaze.

“You sure?” he asked, brow raised.

Stiles nodded eagerly. “I want you to fuck me.”

Derek’s brown rose higher in shock. He smirked mischievously as he lifted the foil packet to his teeth and tore it open. He rolled the condom over his length and applied a slick layer of lube, running his hand up and down the length of his hard cock.

Stiles reached for him, beckoning him.

Derek conformed, moving to hover over him as Stiles wound his arms around his neck.

He lined up with Stiles’ entrance and curved his hips, sinking into him slowly.

Stiles yelped, bowing his back and rocking his hips to meet Derek.

Derek laid kissed across the boy’s neck. He ran his lips up to Stiles’ ear, gently nipping at the lobe. His breath rolled across Stiles’ skin as he whispered, “Relax, pup.”

Stiles drew in a few deep breaths. Derek could feel the boy’s spine trembling and ass relaxing as he slowly edged his length in further. The pressure bore down on him as he resisted the carnal urge to savagely fuck Stiles into the mattress.

Derek adjusted his weight slightly, sliding his fingers through Stiles’ dishevelled hair as he slid the rest of the way in.

An animalistic growl tore at Stiles’ lungs as he back arched off the mattress.

“Stiles?” Derek asked, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

“Oh fu--” Stiles gasped, whimpering a little. He drew in a deep breath.

“I can stop,” Derek offered.

Stiles shook his head.

“I’m okay,” Stiles gasped, rolling his hips a little and moaning as he shifted around Derek’s length.

“I’m going to move, okay?” Derek asked as he dropped a hand to Stiles’ hip.

Stiles nodded and Derek began to move his hips with slow shallow thrusts.

Stiles’ fingertips trailed up the curves of Derek’s spine. He struggled to contain his gasps and groans.

They were a mess of primal sweat, erotic gasps, carnivorous grunts and panting breaths.

Derek buried his face into the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, stifling his rugged gasps as he began to thrust a little deeper and a little faster.

Stiles began to relax more, welcoming Derek’s length.

“Come here,” Derek whispered, shuffling further onto the bed and lifting Stiles onto his lap. “Go as slow as you want,” he instructed.

Stiles tightened his thighs around Derek’s waist, slowly grinding down Derek’s cock before quickly picking up the pace, rising and falling rapidly. He made no attempt to stifle his moans, throwing his head back and digging his nails into Derek’s shoulders.

“Oh, God, Derek. Your dick is so good.”

Derek brushed his jaw against Stiles’ neck, feeling the vibrations of the boy’s gasps and whimpers as he moaned the man’s name. “That’s a dirty little mouth you’ve got there, pup.”

Stiles bounced in Derek’s lap, moving faster and faster.

Derek swore under his breath. “God, Stiles,” he grunted. “You’re killing me.”

Stiles chuckled breathlessly, pace unfaltering.

“You make it so hard for me not to fuck you into the sheets,” he purred.

Stiles fell still, craning his neck and bringing his lips to Derek’s ear. “Who said you couldn’t?”

Derek’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Stiles’ playful smirk as the boy seductively ran his tongue across his lips.

“Seriously?” he whispered, jaw falling agape.

Stiles’ smile didn’t falter, he just seemed to blush. “Just tell me what to do.”

Derek tilted his chin up, bringing their mouths together in a deep, hot kiss. Derek lowered him back against the sheets. He drew back from the boy. “On your hands and knees,” he instructed.

Stiles obeyed, rolling onto his front and lifting himself up.

“Are you absolutely sure?”

Stiles smirked mischievously, grinding back against Derek. “Make me scream.”

Derek gently kneaded his ass cheeks, spreading them and lining up with his opening. He trailed his strong palms up to Stiles’ hips, pulling him down over his length and thrusting into him all at once.

Stiles’ threw his head back, letting out a rugged scream. He was silenced by broken breaths as Derek drew back and thrust into him, just as hard and just as deep. Again and again. Faster and faster.

A wave of worry rolled over him as he feared that he had hurt the boy. He slowed slightly, calmed by the boy’s broken gasps. “Yes, oh God, Derek, yes.”

Derek began to trust a little harder, surprised by the boy’s endurance as his own stomach begun to knot and he felt the tension of an orgasm brewing.

“De--” Stiles stuttered, unable to find his voice beneath his moans. “De--”

Stiles’ weight fell forward onto his forearms. He pressed his forehead against the pillows as Derek slammed him into the sheets.

Stiles’ moans were savage, vibrating through his body and into Derek.

Derek bent over the boy, sinking his teeth into the soft skin of his shoulder.

“Ah!” Stiles moaned uncontrollably. “Derek!”

Derek felt Stiles’ muscles tense around his length as the boy’s back arched and he came, semen spilling across the sheets.

Derek tightened his grip on the boy’s hip, thrusting into him harder. Stiles wailed uncontrollably.

Derek buried his face in the curve of the boy’s neck, grunting as his muscles tensed, his pace faltered slightly and he, too, came.

He moved slowly, feeling his muscles buzz and quiver as he slowly rolled his hips against the boy with shallow thrusts, riding out their orgasms. Derek moved his hips with shallow thrusts, edging out of the boy.

Derek kissed the bright red indentations on the boy’s shoulder, noticing the speckles of blood that were drawn to the surface. A wave of guilt rolled through him as he pressed another kiss to the tender skin.

Derek’s warm hands guided Stiles as he rolled the boy onto his back and lifted a blanket over the boy’s skinny body. He smiled at Stiles before standing up and discarding the condom.

Stiles’ shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths as he tried to calm himself. Despite his boiling body heat and the coursing adrenaline Stiles shivered, yearning for Derek’s body warmth.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, watching as Derek fiddled with the old oil heater.

“Turning it on so we can sleep naked,” Derek muttered.

“You mean that think actually works?” Stiles jested.

Derek glared at him over his shoulder.

Stiles smirked, shocked at the loud clunk and rattling as the old heater roared to life and began to heat up.

Derek picked up the pillow and tossed it to the head of the bed. He crawled across the mattress and laid down next to Stiles pulling the boy into his warm embrace.

Heavy eyelids fluttered as they fell shut over his chocolate irises, chest rising and falling as he made an attempt to slow his breathing and regain his senses.

Derek smiled and pressed an affectionate kiss against the boy’s forehead, pulling him closer against his chest.

“You know,” he murmured, feeling exhaustion drag at his eyes. “That wasn’t bedrest.”

Stiles chuckled. “I know,” he mumbled, sleepily. “But I’ll rest now.” He nuzzled Derek’s chest. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two? Done.  
> (And it ended on a good note too) :P


	27. PART THREE: BETA - Chapter Twenty-Seven

Stiles rested his head against Derek’s stomach, perching the lit cigarette between his lips and drew in the burning air and the sweet relief of nicotine. He opened his mouth and exhaled, swirls of smoke wafting before his face and dancing about in the air.

Derek ran his fingers through the boy’s unkempt hair, mesmerised by how blissful he looked.

Stiles rolled his head to look up at Derek, smiling as he wrapped his lips around the end of the cigarette and dragged the burning smoke into his lungs.

“You look really sexy in that beanie,” Stiles slurred, trying to reach up for the soft orange wool.

Derek tipped his head back so Stiles couldn’t reach, smiling as the boy’s fingers trembled with strain.

Stiles groaned, pouting as he dropped his arm in defeat. He poked his tongue out at Derek and brought the cigarette back to his lips, inhaling deeply.

“And you look incredibly sexy like that,” Derek purred.

Stiles smirked. “And if I were to take off my pants?”

Derek raised his brow and grinned. “I don’t think I’s be able to control myself.”

Stiles’ smile broadened. He snagged his lips between his teeth seductively as he slid his hand down to the waistline of his jeans and tugged the button open.

“Stop it,” Derek chuckled, gently smacking Stiles’ hand.

Stiles’ buzzing phone interrupted them. The boy sat up with a grunt, collecting it from the bedside table.

 

1 New Message

From Dad:

 

Case closed, will be finished in an hour.

Are you coming home for dinner and, if so, do you want me to pick something up?

Derek’s welcome to join us.

Dad.

 

“Dad’s inviting us to dinner, what do you want?” Stiles asked, unlocking his phone to reply.

Derek shrugged, shuffling across the bed and curling up against the boy. He coiled his arms around his slender waist and nuzzled his face into the curve of Stiles’ shoulder. “Anything.”

“Pizza?”

Derek pressed a kiss against the nape of Stiles’ neck as he murmured, “Sounds great.”

Stiles quickly typed out a reply and sent it to his father.

Derek straightened with a grunt, rising to his feet and making his way over to the dresser. He rummaged through the draws and pulled out a long sleeve shirt. He glanced over his shoulder at Stiles who laid on his stomach, elbows pressed into the blanket and chin resting in his hands as he delighted himself by devouring Derek’s body with his dark eyes.

“Like what you see?” Derek asked.

“I’d like it even better if you kept the shirt off,” Stiles replied coyly. His mischievous smirk faded as Derek slid the dark woollen shirt over his golden abs, earning a noise of discontent from the boy.

Stiles rose to his feet, sliding his phone into his pocket before handing Derek his and bouncing after the man’s shadow. Stiles pranced down stairs, pulling his hoodie on and waiting by the door as Derek scooped the keys to his Camaro off the small hallway table and joined him.

Stiles trotted outside and climbed into the passenger’s seat of Derek’s car. Derek slid into the driver’s seat. He glanced out the corner of his eye, watching Stiles fasten the belt across his chest and sit back against the cushion like an eager child. He smiled to himself and turned the key, feeling the engine roar to life.

Stiles’ smile grew as he sank back against the seat, feeling the comforting vibrations of the purring Camaro as Derek revved the car and drove towards the town.

 

#

 

The car roared as it turned onto the street.

“What the hell?” Derek gasped.

Stiles opened his eyes, looking towards Derek. His heart skipped as he noticed the man’s furrowed brow, the stern line of his lips and the flicker of confusion and worry that passed through his eyes.

Stiles followed Derek’s intense gaze.

The boy’s heart sank in his chest and his stomach knotted. He felt his throat close over and his pulse smash against his tightened jaw. His hands began to tremble as his chestnut eyes were lit by the flashing red and blue lights and the translucent orange glow of fire.

Derek slowed down, pulling over to the curb.

Stiles didn’t wait for him to park; he leapt out of the car and sprinted into the house.

“Stiles,” Derek yelled after him. He shoved the gearstick into place and sprinted after the boy.

His feet stalled and the sickening mix of fear and shock froze his limbs. He stared blankly as the flickering flames that lurched towards him, ravenous tendrils engulfing the house and devouring whatever they could. He squinted his eyes against the orange glow, the heat pushed back against his face. He stumbled backwards, legs trembling as he knees threatened to buckle beneath his weight.

“I can’t,” he whispered, lips quivering. “I can’t.”

He shut his eyes and turned his face away trying desperately to ignore the groaning wood and wailing air as the crackling flames tore them apart. He shoved back the memories; the images of reaching hands, outstretched fingers that clawed at the dirt. He tried to ignore the sound of the agonising screams of loved ones as smoke filled their lungs and their flesh was burnt off their bones.

He wasn’t sure whether it was the smoke or tears that burnt his eyes.

A breeze slapped his sweat-dampened cheek, distorting the memory, bringing his mind back to reality and drawing his attention to the figure that stood out from the rest: a woman who mingled among the crowd, composed and proud as others around her fell into shock or screamed in fear. Her long brown hair billowed in the gentle breeze, drawing the strands away from her face and exposing her cynical smile and the bright blue glow of her eyes that were locked on him. Her thin lips twitched upwards when she noticed she had his attention. She lifted her hand, waving a small silver-plated cigarette lighter.

“Bitch,” Derek huffed under his breath, growling as he locked his jaw. He braced himself against the cool grass, ready for a fight when a scream reached his ear.

He spun around.

“Stiles!”

He leapt off his heels and ran into the house.

“Stiles!” he howled, weaving through the labyrinth of flames. “Stiles!”

His eyes flickered blue as he tossed his head about and searched the burning rooms. He lifted his sleeve to his face, coughing against the soft wool. He shielded himself as a patch of rubble collapsed atop of him and the crackling flames lashed out at him.

He leapt into the lounge room. His eyes were drawn to the small figure curled up close to the wall. Stiles pulled his knees to his chest, clutching a photo frame against his body.

“Stiles!” Derek howled over the roaring flames.

Yellow eyes flickered up to meet his. Tears streaked Stiles’ soot-stained face.

Derek took a step closer and reached out to the boy.

The wooden beams creaked, groaning as they threatened to cave in over the two of them.

Stiles screamed, spit dripping from his lips as he buried his face in his knees.

He was scared and Derek couldn’t reach him. Derek couldn’t help him.

“Stiles, I’m here and I’m not leaving until you come with him,” Derek shouted across the room. He stretched a little further, trying to reach past the ring of burning rumble that had collapsed over the couch and imprisoned the boy. “Come on.”

Stiles lifted his head and slowly stretched out his arm. His fingers quivering as he struggled to reach for the man. The boy sobbed and whimpered, fear and smoke filling his body.

The house clattered and groaned as dust and ash sprinkled over Stiles’ head. The boy leapt to his feet and sprinted through the fire, falling against Derek’s chest as a pile of rubble fell to the patch of carpet the boy had been sitting on.

Stiles grabbed at fistfuls of Derek’s thick woollen shirt, his knees giving way beneath him.

Derek hooked his arm under the boy’s legs and hurled Stiles into his hold. He raced through the open doorways, pivoting on his ankles as he rounded the corner. The heat dragged at his muscles as he burst out of the front door and into the night.

The cool evening air rolled over him, caressing the beads of sweat that coursed his body.

He fell to his knees, welcoming the touch of the damp blades of glass. He pulled Stiles closer to his chest, cuddling him against the curves of his body as the boy coughed and spluttered against his shoulder.

Paramedics were by their sides in seconds, talking calmly to Derek. He reluctantly relinquished the boy from his hold, letting the young paramedic ease the boy onto a stretcher and carry him over to the back of an ambulance.

Derek staggered as he rose to his feet, waving off the offers of help that came from other members of the emergency crews. He turned his glittering jade eyes to the crowd, searching the faces.

The beta was gone.

He sighed heavily, dragging his feet across the earth as he made his way over to the footpath, collapsing down on the concrete and dropping his head into his hands.

He tried to slow his breathing, pressing his hands to his ears as he muffled out the sounds of the panic-stricken people, the roaring fire and the heavy thuds of car doors.

“Stiles!” The Sheriff’s voice rang above all other sounds.

Derek opened his eyes and looked towards the sound, watching as the old man flailed about, gently shoving his way through the crowd and weaving his way through the emergency crews. His eyes found Derek. He raced to the man’s side, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and violently hurling him to his feet.

“Where is he?! Where’s my son?”

Derek seemed dazed, blinking heavily. He lifted a hand to Stilinski’s fists and urging the man to let go.

“Where’s Stiles, Derek?”

“Ambulance,” he whispered, weak.

The older man looked around, noticing the small figure of his son, sitting upright on the stretcher, a trembling hand holding an oxygen mask against his face. He released Derek from his grip, leaving the man to stumble about with his weight as Stilinski raced over to Stiles’ side.

He pulled the boy into his arms, holding his son close to his chest.

“Oh thank God,” he whispered, tears splashing against the locks of dirtied, ash-stained hair. Fury boiled in his blood as he let go of Stiles and turned on Derek who slowly made his way over to their side.

“How could you let this happen?!” he barked, livid with rage. “You said you were going to keep him safe. This-” He pointed towards the blazing house. “-is not safe! He could have died!”

“You don’t think I know that?” Derek growled in response. “Why the hell do you think I ran in after him?”

“You should have stopped him from going in there in the first place!”

“Dad…”

Stiles’ raspy whisper was left unheard.

“Well I’m sorry he leapt out of the car before I could catch him,” Derek screamed, voice strained.

“That’s it!” Stilinski bellowed, stepping up to Derek and using the few inches of height that divided them to his advantage. “You are never to come near my son again! Do you hear me?!”

Stiles leapt out of the ambulance and sprinting over to the men. He pushed the two apart, facing his father as waves of tears rolled down his cheeks as he yelped, “Dad, stop!”

Sheriff Stilinski dropped his eyes to his son, biting his lips to stop himself from yelling. His shoulders rose and fell with rugged breaths as he glared at Derek.

Derek looked pained.

“You think I did this, don’t you?” Derek asked breathlessly.

Stilinski didn’t deny it.

“The house was on fire when we got here,” Derek explained, his words falling on deaf ears as Stilinski turned his attention to the patches of blisters and burnt skin that covered his son’s arms, the torn denim of his jeans and shredded shirt revealing ugly red welts on his legs and the strips of bandages that were wound around Stiles’ narrow limbs.

Tears glittered in the boy’s eyes, reflecting the amber glow of the fire that raged on.

“It was my fault,” Stiles whimpered before his father had a chance to make accusations or start yelling again. “I ran into the house. Derek saved me.”

“Why the hell would you go in there?” his father cried, as if it was the most absurd thing he had heard.

Stiles extended his arm, offering his father the photo frame. The rage in the man’s eyes faded, tears glistening on his wrinkled skin as he looked down at the photo of his smiling wife cuddling their five-year-old son. He looked back up at Stiles, shocked.

“I couldn’t leave it there,” Stiles sobbed.

His father’s shoulders weakened. He lifted his gaze to Derek, looking at the man apologetically before turning his attention back to his son. He stalled, cool blue eyes filling with worry as he stared at his son’s spaced out expression.

“Stiles?” his father whispered, tilting his head to look at the boy’s face.

Stiles blinked heavily as if struggling to keep his eyes open. His lips trembled as he drew in weak breaths. His limbs weakened and he collapsed.

Derek caught him, coiling his arms around his slender body and lowering him to the ground.

Paramedics rushed over, swiftly lifting the boy onto the stretched and sliding him into the back of an ambulance. Derek pattered Stilinski’s shoulder, nodding towards the ambulance.

Stilinski nodded in return, stepping into the ambulance, watching through the small window as the doors slammed shut and the ambulance drove away, leaving the man alone in the cold night.

 

#

 

Stiles blinked his eyes open, staring up at the pale grey roof panels and bright while lights of the all-too-familiar hospital ceiling. His body didn’t move, but he could hear soft voices off to his side.

“He’s going to be okay,” a familiar voice whispered. He knew that voice. The warm tones that were so caring and motherly. Melissa. “He blacked out, most likely from the stress and shock. There’s no damage done.”

“It’s not like it could get worse,” he heard his father utter.

“It could get worse,” Melissa said firmly. “But it didn’t. You should thank whatever God there is that Stiles is still alive.”

“Alive and sore,” Stiles rasped, voice rough and croaking. He squinted against the light as the numbness drained away from his limb, leaving him with the feeling of burning agony. Derek was the first by his side, soft green eyes looking at him with worry and relief. He muttered ‘hey’ and smiled. Stiles smiled back.

He shifted on the bed, trying to sit up, but Derek stopped him, holding him upright as Scott and Melissa rearranged his pillows. Derek’s broad hands guided him back against the plush cushioning. He smiled thankfully before adding. “And really hungry.”

His father sighed with relief and Scott couldn’t help but chuckle.

Melissa was next by his side, leaning over him as she talked softly. “Hey, sweetie.”

“Hi,” Stiles chirped. He looked across the room at his dad, a hopeful expression brightening his face as he asked, “Did you bring the pizza?”

Sheriff Stilinski stepped over to the side of the hospital bed. Everyone fell silent. Derek looked up to Scott and nodded towards the door. They all left, silently.

Stilinski sat down on the edge of the crisp white sheets. He sighed heavily. “What were you thinking?”

“Peperoni would be nice.”

“Stiles,” he said firmly. “You could have died.”

Stiles’ expression weakened as he looked his dad in the eye. “I couldn’t leave it there.”

“Stiles, I know you miss her – I do too – but I’d rather lose a photograph than lose you,” Stilinski whispered, tears welling in his eyes and his voice losing its strength. “I will always have those memories. I will never forget her. And while it’s nice to have a photo to remind me of those times, I’d rather have you, kiddo.”

“I’m sorry, dad,” stiles whispered, tears falling freely.

Stilinski leant forward, kissing his son’s forehead and holding the boy close. “It’s okay. I love you, Stiles.”

“I love you too,” the boy sobbed, coiling his arms around his dad and ignoring the burning pain that tore through his veins.

His dad slowly let go and sat back. “Okay. Peperoni and what else?”


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMUT ALERT

“Where’s your dad staying?”

“He has to help out an old army buddy with a case down South, so he’s going to stay there for a few weeks while the fire investigators and renovators patch up the house,” Stiles announced as he flopped down on Derek’s large bed. He felt the weight of the world pin him against the mattress. He drew in a heavy breath and pushed his head back against the pillows. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Derek asked as he laid down next to the boy.

“How do you deal with the pain of loss?” he muttered. “I’ve lived my whole life in that house. And now it’s all gone. The dents in the stairs, the floor and the walls from all the times I’ve fallen and hit my head. The end table that Scott and I broke while we were messing around. The pictures of my childhood and my mother. The stupid picture I drew when I was four that my parents framed and hung because they were so proud of me. The notches my father carved into door frame of the lounge room, because apparently permanent marker wasn’t permanent enough. You know what he did?” A smile flickered across Stiles’ face as he recalled his memory. “He’d make me stand against the doorframe so he could measure me, and then he’s draw a line with pencil and then carve it into the wood with a hand saw. I always thought he was crazy.” The smile disappeared. “This is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” Stiles snapped, tears falling across his cheeks. “The alpha is baiting me. The beta wouldn’t have been there if she wasn’t after me.”

Derek propped himself up on his elbow, using the height to his advantage as he towered over the boy. “She’s the one that lit the house on fire, not you,” he said with finality. “She’s the one to blame, not you.”

“You’re a hypocrite, you know that?” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes and glaring at Derek. “You’ll say it a million times if it’s me, but won’t ever say it for yourself.”

“That’s because people died when my house was set on fire.”

Derek’s shoulders dropped. He reached over and gently brushed the tears off Stiles’ freckled cheeks.

“What do I do?” Stiles asked quietly.

“You just have to make it your home again,” Derek whispered.

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“I didn’t either,” Derek confessed. He tilted his head and pressed a soft kiss against Stiles’ pink lips. “But I’m learning.”

Stiles blushed and bit his lip. He could taste Derek on his lips. He turned his glittering eyes back up to the man. “Will you help me?”

Derek nodded. “Of course.”

Stiles tilted his chin up and brought their mouths together. He coiled his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him closer.

Derek rolled over the boy, straddling Stiles’ hips as he tilted his chin and deepened the kiss.

Stiles moaned against his lips, making Derek chuckle as he broke away. He caught Stiles’ lip between his teeth, tugging at the pink flesh and eliciting a breathless sigh from the boy as Stiles opened his mouth eagerly. Derek brought their lips together again, sliding his tongue into the boy’s mouth.

Stiles unravelled into a mess beneath the radiating heat of the man’s touch, gasping and whimpering as Derek’s hands caressed every inch they could reach.

Derek drew back again and Stiles chased his lips. He pouted at the man’s teasing and latched his lips around Derek’s throat, sucking and nipping at the skin. Derek moaned, the rumbling sound vibrating against Stiles’ lips and earning a lustrous purr from the boy in return.

“Greedy little pup,” Derek sighed.

Stiles pulled back, licking his lips and smirking mischievously.

Derek pinned his shoulders down against the mattress and crushed their mouths together. Stiles dragged his nails across Derek’s bare shoulder blades, buckling his hips and grinding his pulsing erection against Derek’s bulge, humming blissfully.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped.

“Hmm?” the man hummed as he gently nipped at the boy’s throat.

“Can you… punish me?”

Derek sat back. “Punish you?”

Stiles nodded, a blush working its way into his cheeks. He gnawed at the corner of his lip and looked away. “You know… spank me, bite me, tie me up… that sort of thing.”

“Stiles, look at me.” Derek craned his neck and caught the boy’s eye. “You have to tell me whether this is a kink or some sort of repentance, because one of them I’m okay with, the other is a no.”

“What if it’s a bit of both? What if I want to try it with you but I also want a little bit of pain?”

Derek sighed heavily, turning his eyes away from the boy.

Stiles slid his finders under Derek’s chin, tilting his head up and meeting the man’s cool gaze. “Please?”

Derek’s soft hazel eyes searched the boy’s face for answers. He blinked heavily, crumbling beneath the power of Stiles’ gorgeous swirling chestnut depths. He gave in, leaning forward and gently kissing Stiles.

“I’m not going to tie you up,” the man whispered as he pulled away from the boy’s warm lips. “I learnt from last time.”

A flicker of panic passed through the boy’s eyes. “Last time?”

“It was your first full moon, so you probably don’t remember.” He paused, wondering whether Stiles did remember. The confusion in his eyes said otherwise, so he explained, “I shackled you to the heater and you shattered the chains.” Derek noticed the quiver of the boy’s lip. “Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Stiles kissed him, his trembling lips dancing across Derek’s mouth as if to apologise.

Derek broke away from the kiss, resting his forehead against Stiles’. “Stop me any time, okay?”

Stiles nodded.

“Stiles, I _need_ to hear you _say_ it.”

“Okay,” the boy whispered with a soft smile. “Okay.”

“Alright,” Derek sighed. He shifted off of Stiles, crawling down to the end of the bed. He tugged at Stiles’ skinny ankles, dragging the by down the mattress with him. He smirked at Stiles’ delighted yelp. Derek pushed the boy’s shirt up his chest and tugged it over his head. He pressed his broad hand against Stiles’ chest and pushed him back against the sheets. He leant over the boy and pressed his mouth against Stiles’ throat. He gently sicked at the skin, nipping and kissing patches of skin.

“You don’t have to be so gentle-ah!”

Derek sucked, hard enough for it to bruise. He kissed the skin before sinking his teeth around the reddening flesh.

Stiles yelped and moaned, running his fingers through Derek’s hair.

“Oh, God, Derek, more,” he gasped.

Derek made left a short trail of kisses down to Stiles’ shoulder, latching his jaw around the flesh again and leaving Stiles a blubbering mess of cries and gasps.

Derek moved his lips down Stiles’ smooth chest, the soft scruff of his beard brushing against the curves of the boy’s sternum and ribs as he latched mouth around the boy’s firm, pink nipple. He sucked hard, feeling Stiles bow his back and lift his chest towards Derek. Derek pushed his face against Stiles’ chest, swirling his tongue around the nipple. The boy whimpered and purred, urging Derek on.

Derek lifted his eyes to Stiles’, noticing the enchanted glint in the boy’s dark eyes as Derek caught his pink nipple between his teeth and tugged at it.

Stiles yelped, bowing to his touch.

Derek growled against his skin, his hot breath arousing Stiles even more.

He lapped at the hard nipple, teasing the boy as he dragged his tongue around it in slow, torturous circles.

Derek drew back and trailed his lips down the curves of Stiles’ thin body, drinking in every inch of his skin.

Derek unbuckled the boy’s belt and pulled his jeans down to his trembling knees. He rolled Stiles onto his front, the curves of his ass hanging over the edge of the mattress. He kneaded the soft cheeks, kissing the pale skin that covered the boy’s prominent tailbone.

Derek leant over the boy and gently nipped the boy’s shoulder blade. He brought his lips to Stiles’ ear, gently sucking at the lobe. He purred, “Do you want me to spank you?”

Stiles whimpered, grinding back against Derek’s thigh.

Derek spread his hand and gently smacked his open palm against Stiles’ rear.

Stiles gasped, sighing heavily.

Derek swung his hand again, smacking his ass a little harder.

“Fu-Yes,” Stiles moaned, rolling his head back and glancing over his shoulder at Derek. “More.”

“More?” Derek craned his neck and nipped at the nape of the boy’s neck, trailing kisses down the curve of his spine. He spanked Stiles again.

Stiles ground his hips against the sheets before rocking back towards the man’s touch.

“Harder,” he begged.

Derek raised his brow, surprised by the savage side of the boy. “Harder?”

“Please.”

Derek smacked him, leaving an angry red mark across Stiles’ pale skin.

Stiles cried out, jaw slack and eyes rolling back into his head. “Oh, Derek, yes.”

Derek struck the boy again, watching his hips buckle against the soft blanket before bouncing back towards the man eagerly.

“Derek, I want you,” Stiles cried. “I want you in me.”

Derek chuckled lightly.

“Grab the lube then,” Derek instructed.

Stiles reached up to the bedside table, his slender fingers fumbling with the ornate brass handle of the draw. Derek couldn’t help but make it worse, sinking to his knees and pressing as tender kiss against the reddening skin of Stiles’ ass cheek before nipping at the flesh.

He watched as the boy desperately reached for the handle and took advantage of Stiles’ dropped defences. He pinned the boy’s hips against the edge of the bed, spread the cheeks and pushed his mouth against the boy’s entrance and sucked hard, torturing an unrestrained cry from the boy’s lips.

He watched the boy’s hand tremble as he tried to reach for the draw and grind back against Derek’s face at the same time.

Stiles caught a hold of the thin ornate handle and tugged the draw open, fingers frantically scuffling about in the draw as Derek buried his face in Stiles’ ass, shoving his tongue into the boy and pushing against the resistance.

Stiles let out a cry of ecstasy, grinding back against Derek’s mouth.

Derek moaned against him, the vibrations leaving the boy choking for breath.

Stiles lunged forward, fingers coiling around the bottle of lubricant. He tossed it down the end of the bed, clawing at the sheets and moaning relentlessly as he tried to push back against Derek.

Derek kept the boy pinned to the edge of the mattress, teasing him as he withdrew his tongue and gently lapped at the entrance, swirling his tongue in circles around the tight muscle. He pressed his mouth against Stiles’ asshole with enough pressure to make the boy whimper and cry but never entering him.

Derek reached for the bottle of lube. He popped the lid open with a loud click, squirting the gel over his fingers before bringing them to the boy’s ass. He gently pressed his fingers against the ring of Stiles’ asshole, massaging the muscle and slowly relaxing the tension.

He slid two fingers in all at once, sinking into his second knuckle before the pressure and resistance bore down on him. Stiles ground against his fingers and growled ferociously.

Derek slowly withdrew his fingers making Stiles whimper from the loss of warmth. The boy arched his back towards Derek’s fingers, freckles moving across the rippling sheet of Stiles’ pale skin. Derek pushed his hand forward again, shoving his fingers deep into Stiles and moving them back and forth as Stiles began to relax and moan euphorically.

He slid a third finger into the boy.

Stiles arched against the bed, his back bowing as he thrust his throbbing erection against the sheets.

Derek waited for him to calm down before slowly moving his fingers. He curled his fingers against the boy’s prostate, smirking at the indescribable animalistic noise that escaped Stiles’ lips.

Stiles ground back against his fingers, crying in ecstasy as he began to draw close to an orgasm.

Derek pressed his hand against the base of Stiles’ spine, pinning him down against the edge of the mattress.

Stiles thrashed about, a whimper catching in his throat as his knees began to tremble.

“Derek, I’m going to-”

Stiles sobbed as Derek withdrew his fingers.

Derek lifted himself to his feet and quickly stripped off pants. He reached into the draw for a condom, halted as Stiles’ nimble fingers coiled around his wrist and dark chocolate eyes looked up at him.

“I trust you,” he whispered.

“That’s not the point.”

“Please?”

Derek bit his lip and thought. He turned his eyes back to the boy.

“Are you sure?” Derek asked, eyes glittering under the dull lighting of the room.

Stiles nodded eagerly. “Make me scream.”

Derek returned to the end of the bed, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He rolled Stiles over and sat the boy in his lap, nuzzling his face into the dip of the boy’s shoulder blades and kissing the prominent ridges of the boy’s spine. He wound his fingers around the base of Stiles’ cock and lined up with his entrance. He moved his hand to Stiles’ hip and pulled him down, his ass welcoming Derek’s length.

He felt the muscles of Stiles’ ass tighten around his cock as Stiles arched his back, his head falling back against Derek’s shoulder. A moan caught in Stiles’ throat as his vision blurred and he tried to move his mouth around Derek’s name. His legs twitched as tension built in his stomach. Derek’s tight grip on the base of his cock was the only thing stopping him from coming instantly.

“You okay, pup?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, tilting his chin towards Derek. Derek craned his neck and brought their lips together, kissing him passionately.

Derek slowly began to rock his hips, shallowly thrusting into boy.

Stiles moaned against Derek’s lips as he picked up speed.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Stiles chanted breathlessly. “Oh, God. Derek.”

Derek moved fasted, bouncing the boy on his lap and sinking deeper and deeper into him.

Derek laid back on the bed, rolling them onto their sides.

Stiles clawed at the man’s hip, crying out as Derek sank further into him.

“God, fuck, yes.”

“There?” Derek whispered as he thrust hard against Stiles’ prostate.

Stiles screamed. “Yeah. Fu-” He bit into his lip, hissing. “Fuck me.”

Derek brought his mouth to Stiles’ throat, biting the pale skin and sucking hard enough to leave a hickey; a sign that the boy was taken.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped. “Derek please!”

The cry tipped Derek over the edge. His hips stuttered as he buried himself deep inside Stiles and came, hard and unrelenting, warm semen spilling into Stiles’ ass.

Stiles moaned, welcoming the strange sensation as his ass tightened around Derek’s dick.

Derek slowly withdrew his length and rolled the boy onto his back.

“Do you want to come?” Derek teased, his purr caressing Stiles’ skin.

Derek shuffled across the bed and knelt between the boy’s legs, gently pushing his knees open to expose this drenched dick. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ inner thigh, dragging his lips down to the boy’s plump pink cock.

“Please,” Stiles begged, withering beneath Derek, face flushed as he tried to calm his rugged breathing.

Derek drank in the sight of the boy.

Beads of precum drizzled down his length. Stiles’ erection throbbed as his head bobbing against his stomach.

“I want to drink you all up,” Derek purred as he sank his mouth over Stiles’ cock, slurping up the salty precum that flowed from his head.

Stiles screamed, legs thrashing about uselessly as his hips buckled towards the man’s face.

Derek ran his tongue around the head of the boy’s quivering cock, teasing him. He lapped at the head, breath rolling over his slick length and eliciting a broken sob from the boy. He relinquished his grip on the base of Stiles’ cock and sank down over his length.

Stiles came instantly, gyrating as his breath caught in his throat.

Derek slowly dragged his lips back up Stiles’ cock and swallowed his thick, warm semen. He sat back, licking his lips as he looked down at the boy.

Stiles twitched from overstimulation, his body quivering and yearning for Derek’s touch. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as air returned to his lungs. His cheeks were bright read and his eyelids were heavy.

“You okay, pup?” Derek asked as he crawled up to Stiles’ side.

Stiles nodded, eyes shut. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. “I like it when you’re rough.”

Derek leant over him, bringing their lips together for a delicate kiss, stopping so the boy could draw breath.

“And you’re fucking adorable when you’re gentle too,” Stiles added. He opened his eyes, warm chocolate irises melting Derek’s heart as the boy smirked.

Derek sat back, a little suspicious of the boy. He raised his brow as Stiles’ smile brew wider, moles dancing across his cheeks as he asked, “Want to go again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the barrage of smut has begun.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Stiles stood in the foyer of the dark ruins. He stayed still, his ears screaming from the silence as the roaring tide of sounds – whistles, screams and gushing air – deafened him. He watched as the ruins of the Hale house rose around him as if time was reversing; the charred, black ruins rising weightlessly into the air and rebuilding the magnificent structure. The house was restored to its youth; the rich grains of the wooden beams holding their bright beige colour, the bitter scent of ash and smoke replaced by the sweet scent of the beams and the pines and birch trees which surrounded the house, the halls filled with the whispers of parents and the laughter of children.

Stiles listened as the sounds died away, focusing on the huffing breaths outside the house. He stepped forward, gently pulling the door open and stepping out on the balcony.

He stared down the large stag, his antlers branching out like the branches of an oak tree as the light breeze tussled its luminescent white fur.

He stepped forward, his bare feet scuffing through the crunching snow-covered grass as he stepped across the froth yard, hand outstretched towards the magnificent beast.

His tender fingers brushed against the deer’s snout. It stepped forward, pressing its head into the palm of his hand.

Stiles smiled, gently patting the stag’s head.

But something was wrong.

Glassy black eyes stared at him as the beast screamed in agony. The deer reared back, thrashing about as thick black tar oozed out of its coat.

Stiles couldn’t do anything to help. He could only stand and cry as he helplessly watched on. He reached forward, his trembling hand brushing against the deer’s fur. He cringed, gagging at the sensation of liquid caressing his hands.

He blinked heavily, looking up at the figure before him.

The deer was gone, and in its place was a dismembered torso strung up by their wrists with thick ropes laced with wolfsbane. Pooling blood dripped against the dusty concrete floor.

Stiles stepped closer, craning his neck to look at the face of the dead man.

The second he did; he wished he hadn’t.

He collapsed to his knees, crying as he pedalled back against the nearby wall.

“This can’t be real,” he gasped. “I’ve got to be dreaming.”

He buried his hands in his jeans pocket, pulling out his phone and unlocked the screen, trembling hands flicking through his contacts until he found Derek’s name. He called the number, feeling some relief in the fact that it ran nowhere nearby and even more so when the dial tone was interrupted by the man’s soft voice. “Stiles?”

“Derek?” Stiles cried. “Please, help me.”

 

#

 

Derek woke to the sound of his phone rattling against the bedside table. He fumbled through the darkness, his fingers finding the smooth case of his phone. He sat upright, collecting his phone from the tabletop. He squinted at the bright screen, making out the curves of the caller ID.

 

Incoming Call:

Stiles

 

He glanced at the bed beside him, patting at the cold, bare sheets. He pressed ‘answer’ and lifted the phone to his ear. “Stiles?”

“Derek?” the boy whimpered, his voice breaking and his tears almost audible. “Please, help me.”

“Stiles, why are you whispering?”

“There’s someone here.”

“Stiles, where are you?” Derek asked, shoving aside the blanket and leaping to his feet. He pressed ‘loudspeaker’ and listened to the boy as he rifled through the darkness until he found his jean. He pulled them on and ran downstairs.

“I don’t know,” the boy cried. “I think it’s a cellar. I don’t know. It’s cold.”

Derek stopped before he reached the front door, his pace faltering as he slowly turned and headed towards the kitchen.

It was impossible. He couldn’t get down there, it was barred shut and filled in. Cold claws dragged down his spine as he held his breath, his ears filling with the screams of those who had been trapped beneath the house when it was ablaze; their souls tormenting him.

His eyes darted around the dark house, predatory vision giving him the advantage in the darkness.

Stiles wasn’t there.

The phone crackled as the boy whispered, “Derek, I’m scared.”

“I’m going to find you, okay? Stay calm.”

Derek ran back into the foyer. He stepped out onto the balcony and lifted his head, taking a deep breath. Stiles’ scent filled his nose. He was close.

Derek brought the phone to his ear. “Stiles, look around you. Look carefully. Are you sure it’s real?”

“I don’t know,” the boy cried.

“I’m coming for you, Stiles. Okay?”

Derek dug his toes into the cool earth and tore off into the forest. He followed the distinct scent; the sweet mix of trees, sugared drinks and the slightest bitter undertone of sweat.

Derek sprinted through the underbrush, weaving his way through the labyrinth of trees. Fallen deciduous branches clawed at his bare ankles. Withered leaves and twigs crunched beneath his feet as he moved fluidly through the dense forest.

Stiles’ scent grew stronger, mixing with the disgustingly bitter scent of fear.

Derek stopped, looking down at the boy who laid at the foot of the tree, clutching his phone to his ear with small, trembling hands. He crouched beside the boy, gently easing him out of the burrow of roots. He pulled Stiles into his arms, pinning his flailing arms to his side as the boy wailed and thrashed about.

“Derek!” he screamed. “Derek!”

“Stiles, I’m here,” Derek whispered, pressing his face to the side of Stiles’ head and holding him tighter.

“Derek!”

The boy’s blood-curdling screams broke his heart.

“Sties, wake up,” he hissed. “Wake up.”

The boy froze, his screams dying as he drew in a steady breath that never reached his lungs. He could feel hot tears splash against the hairs which covered his forearms. He felt Stiles’ fingertips tenderly brush his arms.

“Derek?” he whispered softly.

“I’m here.” Derek nuzzled his face into the boy’s hair, whispering to him as he swayed his frail body. He weakened his hold on Stiles, letting the boy turn and curl into his warmth. Derek held him close as he shivered. He slid his arm around the boy’s waist and lifted him into his arms. “Let’s get you home, pup.”

Stiles nestled his face into Derek’s shoulder, slumping against Derek’s chest and weakly grabbing at his thin singlet.

Derek walked slowly, listening to Stiles’ breathing as he fell asleep against Derek’s shoulder. Derek pushed aside branches and stepping through the darkness. Every few meters, he would stop, listening to the sounds of the night and scanning the trees with predatory vision to ensure that they weren’t being followed. He cradled Stiles closer, eyeing the creeping shadows as he stepped out of the trees and into the clearing. He crept back inside, shutting the door and carrying the sleepy boy upstairs. He set Stiles down on the bed and lifted the blanket over his shivering body.

Derek sat down on the edge of the bed, turning his back to the boy. He hung his head in hands and exhaled heavily.

“Derek?” the boy whispered, his slender fingers brushing against Derek’s bare back.

“Stiles, I’m done pretending that this is okay. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No,” the boy objected, coming back to his senses. “Derek, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not, Stiles.” Derek raked his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, pup, but I’m taking you to the hospital first thing in the morning.”


	30. Chapter Thirty

Stiles dragged his feet into the service station, glancing over his shoulder at Derek and watching the man press the nozzle of the petrol pump into his car. He could hear the motor running and the petrol sloshing as it filled the tank, his full lips set in a stern line as his bright eyes glared at the air before him.

Stiles had been so occupied with his own emotions and self-destructive behaviour that he didn’t ever stop to consider how tough this was for Derek.

He sighed, making a mental not to apologise to Derek and make up for everything later. But in the meantime the painful rumble in his gut was becoming an issue.

Derek had sent him into the station to pick out something to eat while he filled the car, but as Stiles scanned the shelves of snacks he growled at the chocolate bars, silently swearing at himself for his new-found dietary restrictions.

Stiles’ attention was drawn to his phone as it buzzed in his pocket. He shoved his fingers into the tight denim and drew it out, unlocking the screen to read the received text.

 

1 New Message

From Dad:

 

Are you okay?

Melissa says you’re going to hospital.

Let me know what’s happening ASAP.

 

Stiles sighed, he knew his dad would be freaking out – of course Melissa would have told him. He mentally slapped himself for not being the one to tell his dad, to explain it all before the old man worked himself into a frenzy.

He tapped to reply, watching as the text box lit up the screen, the thin blue line blinking at him like a heartbeat. His hands began to tremble. He tried to strain his thumbs to type out the message, but he couldn’t move.

He blinked heavily, his phone slipping from between his shaking hands and clattering against the polished concrete floor.

He tried to breathe, but it felt as if he were in a vacuum, fear seeping into his veins as he struggled to breathe and tears burnt in his eyes. He lifted his gaze to look at Derek.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to cry.

He wanted Derek. He wanted him to come running to his rescue, to catch him as his knees buckled and to cradling him into the warmth of his chest and tell him it would be okay. But his tunnelling vision turned into darkness as he hit the ground.

 

#

 

“Here’s hoping Stiles hasn’t stocked up on a hundred dollars’ worth of food,” Derek grumbled to himself as he set the nozzle back on the machine and turned towards the station. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, lifting his gaze and catching Stiles’ eye.

Something was wrong.

The boy’s lips were trembling and his distant glassy eyes were filling with tears as he seemed to choke on his shallow breaths.

Derek quickened his pace, hurrying over the service station.

He watched as Stiles collapsed to the ground.

“Stiles!”

His scurry turned into a sprint as he burst into the station and dropped to the boy’s side, gently shaking him until he stirred, a little disorientated and scared but unharmed.

Derek lifted him into his arms, holding him close as his shaking began to subside.

The attendant ran to their side. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

“No, it’s alright,” Derek said, rather calm all things considered. “We’re on our way to the hospital anyway.”

“I’m okay,” Stiles dismissed, lanky limbs giving way as he tried to rise to his feet.

Derek lifted Stiles into his arms, holding upright as they walked over to the counter. He pulled money out of his wallet and handed it over to the attendant.

“You still hungry?” Derek asked softly. He looked down at Stiles, who still seemed rather dazed and distant as he dropped his head to Derek’s shoulder.

Stiles nodded.

Derek purchased a couple of doughnuts and thanked the attendant before guiding the trembling boy out to the car. He set Stiles down in the passenger’s seat and handed him the bag of doughnuts before sliding into the driver’s side and snatching a doughnut from the brown paper bag. He tore into the sweet dough, devouring it as the engine revved to life and they drove towards the hospital.

Stiles sat in silence, feeling the tension radiating off of Derek.

“Derek, come on. It’s not even that bad,” Stiles said quietly. “I said it’s okay.”

“Shut up,” Derek ordered, voice strained as he fought back waves of panic and surging emotions.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

Derek tipped his head against the doorframe, listening to the machines beep and the people talk in hushed tones.

Terminal and escalating, that’s what the doctors had said.

He didn’t turn to face Stiles he knew the boy was staring at him with his glittering brown puppy eyes.

Derek felt his heart ache.

“I’m not going to see you for a while, Stiles,” Derek explained, his heart aching. He wasn’t sure who this hurt more; him or Stiles. “I want you to know that I love you. Don’t forget that, okay? I just… I just need some time to sort things out.”

“Derek, please don’t go.”

His soft whisper broke the man’s heart. He sounded like the small scared boy he was.

Derek turned his back to the boy, stepping out into the hallway and walking away.

“Derek?” the boy called after him. His voice shattered into a heart-broken wail as the monitors screamed. “Derek!”

Derek picked up his heel and stormed out in the open air. He clambered into the Camaro, blinking back the blur of tears as he turned the key, span the wheels and sped off down the street.

He drove, hoping it would numb him, but the ringing sound of Stiles’ cried echoed in his ears. He turned onto the quiet roads out of town, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. The wheels screeched on the damp road. Plumes of smoke rose from the rubber as the Camaro tore off down the road, devouring the stretch of asphalt.

The car fishtailed as he swung onto the track leading out to his house, pulling up before the ruins. He turned his key and listened as the roaring engine died into silence.

He stepped out into the dying dusk light, his knees buckled beneath him and he collapsed onto the cushion of dead leaves. His hands trebled as he smothered his face and raked his fingers through his hair, letting loose a cry. Hot tears streamed down his face as thick saliva choked him.

His keys jingled as they fell to the ground and he pulled his knees up to his chest.

He felt broken; hurt and vulnerable.

He couldn’t face Stiles like that.

He needed to be strong.

 

#

 

Derek laid in bed, his back turned to the cold, empty space behind him. He tried to remember how it had been only months ago when Stiles hadn’t been in his life.

How had he slept?

How had he survived?

He felt cold, shrugging the blanket further up over his broad shoulders as his phone rattled against the rich grain of the bedside table. He groaned, the cold air raising the hairs on his arms as eh reached over and picked it up. He turned the screen towards him, squinting at the glow.

 

Incoming Call:

Stiles

 

He set it down again, staring blankly at the dull glow of the screen as it lit up the air around it. The caller ID disappeared, the screen growing brighter as it lit up with a notification.

 

Stiles

Missed Call (9)

 

Call Voicemail.

You have (1) new voice message(s).

 

He swore under his breath and unlocked his phone. He dialled ‘101’ and listened to the recorded processor.

‘You have one new voice message. Message received at ten fifty-six pm.’

Stiles voice came through the phone, warming his hear but chilling his blood at the same time.

“It’s me. I don’t know what to do. So if you can turn your phone on or answer a damn call that’d be great. Or else I’ll kill you. You understand? I’ll kill you. I’ll grab a stick, wrap it in wolfsbane and shove it up your ass.” He fell silent for a second, his voice quiet as he continued, “I’m not mad, I promise. I just… I can’t do this alone. Derek, I need you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's okay if you hate me. I'm a horrible person and I hate myself.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Derek stepped through the charred rubble and remains of what used to be the Stilinski house.

People wove in and out of rooms, carrying masses of burnt black wood and the ruins of what could have been couches and cushions. The house still smelt of smoke and ash, but the open windows helped defuse the bitter scent.

Derek stepped over towards the open doorway of the living room. He ran his fingers down the thick pine plank that lined the dividing wall. His fingertips fell into the ridges, every notch carved into the plank. He followed them down to the floor. All sixteen of them. He crouched down at the lowest and pressed his finger against the worn down wood.

He tried to imagine what it would have been like to have Stiles running through the house when he was barely two feet tall, his chubby little feet patting against the polished floorboards as he ran from room to room. He could imagine they boy’s squealing laughter filling the rooms as his parents chased after him. He could imagine the sparkle in his chestnut brown eyes, the glimmer of blissful ignorance and childish joy.

“Derek Hale, right?” A man interrupted his thoughts. He turned his attention to the source of the voice, eyes rolling over the slender figure beneath the tan uniform. His eyes flicked from the Deputy Sheriff patch on his arm to the small gold-plated badge on his breast pocket. Deputy J Parrish.

“Yeah,” he replied, nonchalantly.

“Are you here to help out?” he asked, suspicious of the man.

“Yeah.” He turned his eyes back to the door frame. “Do you a plank of ply wood and a marker you can spare?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll see what I can find.” The man scurried away as if ordered rather than asked. He returned with a thick plank of pale ply and a Sharpie.

Derek pressed the ply up against the old door frame and marked out the measurements.

“What are you doing?” the man asked, head tilted with curiosity as he watched Derek’s meticulous actions.

“Stiles told me that his dad used to carve his height into the doorframe every year,” Derek explained. “I just thought that it was something meaningful and the Sheriff would appreciate not losing it.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll get the last measurement later and etch them in. I’ll help rebuild the doorframes tomorrow.”

Derek stepped back outside and tossed the plank of wood into the spacious boot of his car. He walked back inside and helped the clean-up crew, sorting through what could be saved and what was beyond salvation. He stood back and listened to the discussion of who had spare couches or tables that they were more than happy to give, the collaboration of ideas on paint colours and artistic details.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time.

He turned to Parrish. “I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” the deputy farewelled, pale eyes latched onto Derek and watching he climbed into his Camaro and revved the engine, pulling away from the curb and disappearing down the street.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

_You’re mine_.

The rumbling voice tore through Stiles, his blood running cold as he stared down at the bright blue eyes of the beta who knelt in the littered leaves that cushioned the cold earth.

Heavy hands weighed down his slender shoulder, jagged claws dragging at the thin fibres of his tee-shirt.

“Derek,” the boy whimpered. “Please, I don’t want to-”

A clammy and clapped over his mouth as a low rumble silenced him. His eyes ignited a brilliant yellow glow as the alpha took a hold of his wrist, tightening his grip and forcing the boy to expose his sharp claws.

Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks but he couldn’t fight back.

The beta bitch grabbed at a fistful of Derek’s cropped raven-black hair, pulling his head back and exposing his throat. The man growled at her, teeth exposed and eyes luminescent.

 _Do it_. The alpha snarled.

“Please. No,” Stiles cried.

“Pup,” Derek hissed through gritted teeth. “It’s okay.”

Derek watched as his exposed Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“No, it’s not.”

“Stiles, listen to me.” Derek strained against the beta bitch’s hold, trying as hard as he could to look the boy in the eye. Small bubbles of black tar boiled through skin, trickling across the golden flesh and pooling at his feet. “It’s okay. I lo-”

There was a splatter of red, a wave that crashed over him as the alpha manipulated the boy and swung his arm, tearing open the Derek’s throat and silencing him. Stiles watched, ears screaming as the man’s lifeless body fell to the ground, the glow of his eyes fading. His weight rippled the puddle of black ooze, tendrils like shadows as they clawed at his skin and dragged him into the darkness.

Stiles bolted upright, screaming.

Nurses bolted into the room, talking gently to him as they tried to settle him back down among the sheets.

He thrashed about in their hold, wailing like a pained animal as tears fell across his reddening cheeks.

Melissa sprinted to his side, quickly instructing nurses about the room as she climbed up onto the bed, pinned Stiles’ flailing arms to his sides and pulled him back against her warmth. She pressed her cheek to the crown of his head and whispered, “You’re okay. It’s alright, Stiles. You’re okay.”

He settled and looked around the room. He stared at the sterile white walls and the speckled grey ceiling; the cold setting reminding him that he was in the hospital and not at Derek’s. He turned his head to look up at Melissa.

“Where’s Derek?” he croaked.

“He’s not here, sweetie,” Melissa said softly, patting down his ruffled hair and gently rocking him. Her sad eyes reflected his image; the face of a sickly boy who walked the line between insanity and death. Her soft pink lips moved around her whispered words, “I’m sorry.”

Tears welled in his eyes as he asked again, “Where’s Derek?”

“I don’t know,” Melissa muttered, gently kissing the boy’s forehead and setting him down among the sheets. She tugged at the blanket and pulled it up to his shoulders, brushing his scruffy hair off of his forehead.

It broke her heart when Stiles looked at her, confused and pained.

“Where’s Derek?”

She sighed. “If he comes, I’ll wake you, alright?”

Stiles nodded, heavy eyelids already falling shut.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Stiles woke slowly in a dark room, the light of the hallway seeping into the shadows. He gently pushed aside the thin blankets and lifted his weight onto his skinny legs. He crept towards the door and stepped out into the hallway.

He looked down the length of the bright hall, checking for people. He seemed invisible; no-one noticed him and those who did seemed to look right through him.

He dropped his gaze to his feet and walked, wavering about and watching as the ground beneath his feet changed from linoleum to asphalt and concrete, to damp dirt and broken twigs. The pale skin that covered his feet grew darker and darker; dirtied by mud and blood as he walked on, numb and cold.

A howling wind tore through him, suffocating him and deafening him until a soft sound reached him; a voice.

“Stiles?”

Stiles jolted upright, his eyes catching sight of the figure before him. He took in the sight of the half-dressed man, his black jeans sitting on his solid body. The golden skin of his exposed pectorals were covered in a light dusting of dark hair.

Stiles lifted his eyes up to the man’s face, eyes glancing over his soft whiskers and sharp cheek bones. His clear eyes shifted colour in the darkness, varying between pale green and sky blue but always vibrant despite the inky blackness of the night surrounding them.

Stiles turned his eyes to the surroundings, the charred wooden house that stood before him, the moist rotting leaves that littered the ground and the ghostly white trunks of birch trees that intermingled with the dark silhouettes of the pines and various other species of trees.

“Come here,” Derek whispered, lifting the boy into his arms and carrying him inside. He walked into the kitchen and set the boy atop the bench, holding Stiles upright with a hand as he reached about for a bowl of water and the small medical kit that was set atop the fridge. He soaked the boy’s feet in the water, flinching as the boy gasped. He grabbed the paper towel and tore it to strips, dipping the pale white tissue in the water and dabbing at the boy’s torn feet. He pulled out splinters and shards of rock and glass.

He glanced up at Stiles’ face, noticing how spaced out and confused he still seemed.

“Stiles, stay here,” Derek said firmly. He stepped away from the boy, watching him for a second to see whether he would topple over without the man holding him up. Derek hurried upstairs and grabbed his phone off of his old bedside table, scrolling through his contacts and calling Melissa as he made his way back to Stiles’ side.

“Derek,” she answered, voice tense and hopeful.

“If you’re looking for Stiles, he’s at my place,” Derek stated bluntly.

She sighed, a little relieved but still quite concerned. “Is he okay?”

“He seems a little out of reality and his feet are quite damaged from walking here, but he doesn’t seem hurt,” Derek replied.

“Oh, thank God. If you want, I can come and pick him up,” she offered.

Derek glanced down, finally noticing the boy’s soft grasp on the denim of his pocket. His coffee brown eyes stared at the floor, but he did not relinquish his hold.

“No,” Derek whispered. “It’s okay. He can stay here the night and we’ll see how he is in the morning.”

“Okay. You two take care, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning to check up on him.”

“Alright,” Derek agreed. “I’ll see you then.”

He hung up and set the phone down on the counter top, turning his attention to the boy. He crouched down before him, moving into Stiles’ vision as he spoke softly, “Stiles? Do you know where you are?”

“How did I get here?” the boy asked.

“You walked.”

“Oh,” he muttered, lifting he eyes to stare off into oblivion. “It was a nightmare,” he mumbled. “But it was so real. It was so loud. All that noise… and those images rolling around in my head. I don’t know what’s real.”

“This,” Derek whispered, taking Stiles’ small hand in his own. “This is real.”

Stiles collapsed against Derek’s chest, the soft pads of his trembling fingertips brushing against Derek’s skin as he began to sob. “I-I… I didn’t want to but I…” His words were interrupted by hiccups and sobs as he fumbled about. “You were… I saw you... I saw you die.”

Derek felt his heart sink, saddened by the fact that he knew there’s no way he can help. He slid his hand into the soft fuzz of Stiles’ undercut, cupping the back of his head and holding the boy close as he cried.

He pressed a soft kiss against the crown of Stiles’ head. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m alive and I’m alright. Okay?”

Stiles lifted his eyes back Derek’s soft gaze, seeming more cognitive and awake. “Can you read to me?”

Derek smiled softly and nodded.

Stile raised his arms like a child wanting to be picked up. Derek wound his arms around the boy’s waist and lifted the boy into his hold, relaxing at the strange familiarity of Stiles nuzzling his face into the curve of Derek’s neck, his warm breath rolling across the thin hairs. He carried the boy upstairs and awkwardly but carefully laid down atop the mattress, cuddling the boy against his chest as he picked up his novel and opened up to his bookmark.

Stiles pressed an ear to Derek’s chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart and the soft rumble of his voice as he read. He knew he wasn’t quite right now, he still felt numb but for a different reason. Here – in Derek’s arms – he was comfortable. He felt safe and relaxed, and yet, he was crying, warm tears splashing against Derek’s chest.

Derek rested his cheek against the top of Stiles’ soft, tussled hair. He read until the boy fell asleep, his breathing slow and body relaxed as he melted into Derek’s warmth.

Derek set the book aside and slid down the mattress, lifting the blanket over them and pulling the boy closer against his chest. He pressed a tender kiss against the boy’s temple, careful not to stir him as he whispered, “Goodnight, pup.”


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

“You don’t have to go if you don’t feel up for it,” Derek reassured Stiles as he stared out the window of the Camaro and at the large building of the school.

“If I don’t, Scott will thinks something’s wrong,” Stiles muttered. His slender fingers hovered over the car door.

“Hey.” Derek’s whisper caught the boy’s attention. He turned his warm chestnut eyes to the man. “If you don’t want to go, then we’ll go home. If you do want to go, then I promise I’ll pick you up after school finishes, okay?”

Stiles nodded.

“Come here.” Derek slid his fingers under the boy’s chin, turning his head and bringing their lips together in a tender kiss.

“Promise you’ll come back?” the boy whispered, resting his forehead against Derek’s.

“I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

Stiles opened his eyes and looked into the shimmering depths of Derek’s, his dark pols filled with gratefulness.

“I love you,” Derek whispered, pressing a soft peck against Stiles’ cheek.

A warm blush filled Stiles’ cheeks as he bit his lip and looked down, mumbling, “I love you too.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile at how adorable the boy was.

Stiles pulled back, picking up his backpack and opening the door. He stumbled onto the concrete and span around. He bent over, his cute freckled face peeking through the metal frame of the car door.

“Thank you,” he said before he shut the door and turned.

“Stiles,” Derek called after him, opening the door quickly and stepping out.

The boy span around.

He extended his hand and watched as Stiles’ expression melted away into utter embarrassment.

He took the booklet of homework from Derek’s hand. Blushing as he said, “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you later,” Derek whispered.

He shoved the booklet in his bag and hurried off towards the silver four-wheel drive that pulled into a nearby parking spot.

Derek watched as Stiles practically tackled his best friend, both chatting and smiling as they walked up the small fleet of stairs into the school he had once called his own.

His presence drew the attention of two girls as they walked towards the building from across the car park – wavering fabric of dresses and jackets billowing in the soft winter breeze. Their slow amble fell to a stop as they cast their eyes towards Derek.

“Who’s that?” one of the girls with bronze hair pulled back into a ponytail asked, her hungry eyes rolling over Derek.

“That’s Derek Hale,” the second girl – a brunette who had fastened her curls into a cascading wave teat rippled down between her shoulder blades – replied. “You know? The guy who set fire to his house and killed his family.”

A boy ran up to their side, his rugby jumper rippling over his muscular body as he swung an arm around the strawberry-blonde girl’s shoulders.

“What’s he doing here?” the first girl asked, ignoring the new arrival as her expression lost its lust and filled with worry.

“Who?” The boy followed the girls’ gazes and glared at Derek. “I heard Stiles is staying at his place while his house is being rebuilt,” he told the girls.

“Stiles Stilinski?” the girls gasped in unison, staring at each other in shock.

The brunette looked from her friend to the man. “What’s a kid like Stiles Stilinski doing with a creep like him?”

Derek felt his breath leave his lungs as his eyes fell to the ground. He was grateful that no one could see his glistening fear-filled eyes beneath the dark lenses of his sunglasses as he turned and slid into the Camaro, the engine rumbling to life as he drove away.

 

#

 

Derek pulled into an empty parking bay at the far end of the campus. He slid the gear stick into place and checked the time on his phone.

3:28.

He slid out of the driver’s seat and shut the door with a quiet thud. He slouched back against the gleaming metal frame of the Camaro. He scuffed the edge of his thick black leather boot against the concrete path, waiting.

The shrill ring of the school bell stung his ears as crowds of children flooded out of the main building. Derek turned his eyes to the bright blue doors. Finally Scott and Stiles emerged, bouncing off each other and laughing as if there wasn’t a care in the world. Stiles skipped down the concrete stairs, stumbling on the last step. Scott caught his arm, pulling him back up to his feet as Allison raced to his side. Stiles waved them off, smiling as he swatted away their hands and laughed.

Scott smile disappeared as he sniffed at the air, face creased in confusion as he turned his eyes towards Derek. His friendly smile dropped as he gently nudged Stiles.

“What?” Stiles asked, turning his head about.

From across the carpark, Derek could hear Scott’s tense whisper, “What’s _he_ doing here?”

Stiles looked around the crowded space. “Who?”

“Derek,” Scott hissed.

“Where?” Stiles asked eagerly.

“Over there.”

Stiles turned his eyes to the man, a goofy smiles spreading across his face. “Oh… um… I’m staying with him while my house is being fixed,” Stiles explained.

“With _him_?” Scott’s jaw fell open with shock. “Stiles, you know you can always stay at my place. Where it’s warm… and safe.”

“It’s fine, Scott,” Stiles reassured him, gently nudging his shoulder. “Besides, you have a visitor.” He smiled knowingly at Allison, who hung her head and hid her blush beneath a curtain of dark curls. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye,” Allison whispered, smiling softly at him

Scott caught his friend’s arm. Stiles span back around, nearly losing his footing again.

Scott turned his glare away from Derek and looked at his friend. “If anything goes wrong, or you need somewhere to stay, call me.”

“Thanks, man, but I’ll be okay.”

Stiles skipped over to Derek’s side, gently slapping his forearm. “What’s up, Sour Wolf?”

Derek remained silent as he opened the passenger door for Stiles, eyes still locked on Scott. He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key, listening as the Camaro roared to life. He revved the engine, turning heads as he pulled out of the parking space and glided out of the carpark, delighted by the soft chuckle that escaped Stiles’ lips.

 

#

 

Derek span his car keys around his finger as he stepped into the large foyer of the manor. He tossed the tinkling keys onto the small table beside the stairwell.

Stiles dropped his bag by the door as usual.

Derek span around, stepping up to the boy’s side and gently edging him back against the wall. He ran his hand up the boy’s side, fingers teasing the rippling fabric of his shirt and tracing the ridges of his ribs. Stiles coiled his arms around Derek’s neck as the man brought their lips together, bracing himself against a spread palm above Stiles’ head.

Derek felt his fingertips ache as the nails grew into claws. He dragged a jagged claw across the wooden panel above Stiles’ head, tearing open the flesh of the grain.

Derek drew back, looking down at the boy’s face.

Stiles’ eyelids fluttered and his lips quivered. He blinked his eyes open, dark irises scanning Derek’s face.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Derek sighed, swallowing hard as he stepped away from Stiles.

“That face doesn’t mean ‘nothing’. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Derek whispered dismissively.

Stiles caught his wrist. “Derek,” he said firmly, as if warning him.

Derek turned his eyes away from the boy. “It’s just… things people say.”

“Things such as…” Stiles prompted.

Derek bit his lip. “Like what is a nice kid like Stiles doing with someone like me? A freak. A creep. A killer. And I’m starting to wonder the same thing.”

“Because I love you,” Stiles whispered. He stepped closer to the man, not breaking away from his cool green eyes. “I love you, Derek Hale.”

Derek fell weak at the boy’s soft voice. “One more time?”

Stiles smiled. “I’ll say it a million times if I have to.” He stepped in front of Derek, prancing up onto the lower step of the staircase, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders and pressing their foreheads together. He levelled his eyes with the man. “I love you.”

Derek leant forward and kissed him. He could feel the boy smile against his lips and couldn’t help but smile in return.

 

#

 

Stiles laid on his stomach, skinny fingers darting back and forth as his eyes rolled across the screen of his computer.

Derek walked into the bedroom, dressed in only a pair of tight black jeans. He pranced onto the bed and sat atop Stiles’ soft ass, running his fingers through the fuzz of the boy’s regrowing hair.

“What’s this?” he asked joyfully.

Stiles giggled and shoved him off. “Stop it, I have to finish this essay tonight.”

Derek smiled and slumped himself beside the boy, nestling amongst the pillows. He collected the hardcover novel from the bedside table, flipping through the pages to find where he left off. He slid back against the plaster wall and began to read the lines of black text. He struggled to keep his eyes on the book, captivated by the simple pose he held; the nail of his left index finger caught between his teeth as he thought. He didn’t bite it, he just held it there, lips trembling around the soft skin as he mouthed out odd sentences of his essay.

“That’s wrong,” the boy mused to himself, reading sentences beneath his breath. “It should be a d, not an s, and that should be… there.” He squinted at the screen.

“Tired?” Derek asked.

“Nah, I just need my glasses,” Stiles groaned.

Derek paused. His brow rose as a glint of surprise and mischievous joy passed over the boy’s face. “You wear glasses?”

“I don’t like to. They’re weird and I don’t need any help looking like a huge dork.”

Derek set the novel aside and slid down beside the boy. He coiled his arm around his waist and nestled his face into the curve of his neck, littering kisses against his skin. “I think you’d look sexy with glasses.”

“Stop,” Stiles giggled, gently shoving the man off of him again.

Derek rolled back onto the mattress, snickering. He pressed a kiss against Stiles’ bicep, opting to just lay still and watch the boy.

 

#

 

Derek jolted awake with a gasp, eyes flickering blue as he stared around the room.

“Hey,” Stiles whispered, reaching over to gently stroke the man’s raven black hair. “It’s just a nightmare.”

Derek froze, enraptured by the sight of Stiles, his warm brown eyes framed by thick black frames.

“What?” Stiles asked, put off by Derek’s intense stare.

“You’d better be finished, pup, because I don’t think I can control myself,” he admitted as he rolled Stiles onto his back and pounced on top of him. He brought their lips together, devouring him. He ran his tongue across Stiles’ lips. Stiles opened his mouth and welcomed Derek’s dominating tongue, grabbing at the fistful of the man’s hair. Derek ground his hips down against the boy’s, pushing him down against the mattress.

Stiles moaned against his mouth, buckling his hips back against Derek’s. Stiles looped his arms around Derek’s neck, hooking his leg around Derek’s hip and rolling the man onto his back. He drew back from the kiss, panting as he shrugged his plaid shirt off his shoulders and stripped the thin tee-shirt beneath it over his head, careful not to bump his glasses.

Derek’s hands fell to Stiles’ hips by instinct, the balls of his thumb tracing circles against the protruding bones.

Stiles caught his lower lip between his teeth, drinking in the sight of Derek’s ravenous eyes rolling over him and watching as he very slowly unbuckled his belt. He swiftly tugged it free, listening to the hot hiss as it slid it out of the loops of his pants. He tossed it aside, pleased by Derek’s mischievous smile. He edged his zipper down, sliding his thumbs beneath the hemline of his pants and shoved his jeans down to his knees, his boxers following as he wrestled them off his legs.

Derek slid his hands down to Stiles’ ass, groping the soft tissue. Stiles moaned and pushed back against his hands.

Stiles reached across the bed, setting his laptop down on the bedside table before rifling through the draw for the lube. He flipped open the lid and spread it across his skinny digits. He reached around behind himself and gently teased himself open, sliding his fingers inside. He yelped at the sudden wave of pain.

“Easy, pup,” Derek whispered.

“Doesn’t feel as good as you,” Stiles uttered.

Derek cupped Stiles’ ass cheeks, kneading and spreading them. He craned his neck and trailed kisses across Stiles’ throat. “Take it slowly, move your hands back and forth.”

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat and it irritated Derek that he couldn’t see what the boy was doing to himself.

“There you go,” Derek whispered. “Now a little deeper.”

Stiles ground his ass against Derek’s firm hands.

“Spread your fingers,” Derek instructed.

Stiles obeyed, letting out a savage cry as his back curved and Derek sank his teeth into the boy’s exposed throat.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped. “Derek.”

“Yes, pup?”

“I can’t wait.”

“You have to,” Derek whispered. “If we do it now it’ll hurt you.”

Stiles whimpered.

“Try putting another finger in,” he instructed. “Slowly.”

Stiles hissed and panted as he shifted his fingers about and pushed a third one into his tight ass. He grunted, pushing back against his hand.

“Curl your fingers.” Derek watched as Stiles obeyed, his face contorted with ecstasy and his body moving against his touch, begging for more. He straightened his fingers and thrust them in and out, loosening himself up.

“Derek, please, I can’t take it anymore. I want you.”

Stiles withdrew his hand, golden eyes focused on the man as he made quick work of Derek’s pants, unbuttoning them and pulling them down to his knees. He reached forward and grabbed a condom from the draw. He snagged the foil packet between his teeth and sat back, his hand seeking Derek’s half-hard cock.

Derek gasped at the boy’s touch, arching his back and thrusting into Stiles’ hand as he brushed his palm against his length.

Stiles purred, moving down to Derek’s lap. He lifted his hand and tore open the foil packet. He rolled it over Derek’s thick cock. He lowered his face, running his longue up the underside of Derek’s dick before sinking over his length. He slid his tongue around the man’s head, bright eyes watching his euphoric expression.

Stiles drew back, a trail of spit dripping from his lip. He sat back in Derek’s lap, quickly positioning himself above the man’s throbbing erection before sinking down over his impressive length.

He sighed, nails digging into Derek’s chest.

Derek returned his grip to Stiles’ ass, slowly running his hands back up to the boy’s hips and dragged him down over his length. He buckled his hips and thrust into Stiles.

“Oh, God,” Stiles gasped, hands gipping Derek’s wrists and pinning them above the man’s head.

Derek’s fingers twitched against the pillows as Stiles leant forward, brushing his lips against Derek’s.

“My treat,” he whispered, his yellow irises overcome by the welcoming black abyss off his dilated pupils.

He rocked his hips back, moving himself up and down Derek’s cock.

Stiles’ erection rubbed against Derek’s abs, the plump pink head slick with precum as it bobbed off his toned muscles.

Stiles leant back, bracing himself against Derek’s thighs as he moved faster and faster. Derek moaned at the warmth, the tension that dragged at his length.

Derek inhaled, smelling every drop of primal sweat that sat upon Stiles’ moonlight-pale flesh, the strawberry shampoo he used, and the sweet scent of pine trees that clung to his skin.

He watched the boy, his freckles dancing across his body as the blanket of flesh rippled as he moved. He watched as Stiles rose up and dropped down over his cock, consuming him.

Stiles’ erotic moans were strangled into broken gasps as he grew closer and closer to his climax. His stomach tensed and his rhythm stuttered as Derek’s cock pressed against his prostate. He tried to quicken the pace, sliding up to the tip of Derek’s length before dropping down the base.

Derek arched off the bed, desperately reaching for the boy’s lips.

Stiles stayed millimetres out of his reach. He shook his head, his breath rolling across Derek’s open mouth as he scolded Derek. “Uh-uh.”

Derek fell back against the sheets and watched as Stiles’ ass consumed the length of his cock.

“Oh, Stiles,” Derek panted, trembling beneath the boy. He was so close and Stiles was well aware of what affect he had on the man. “Fuck me.”

“Derek,” he gasped, voice laced with lust.

An animalistic growl rose out of Derek’s chest. He sat upright despite Stiles’ disapproval, bringing his lips to Stiles’ neck and tasting the salty sweat that covered his flesh.

“I know you can move faster than that,” Derek huffed against the smooth, mole-speckled skin which covered Stiles’ collar bone.

Stiles let out an inarticulate whine at the rush of heat, his hands sliding up Derek’s shoulder and into his the dark stubble of his hair, tugging at the strands until it burnt at his skull. Derek growled, squeezing a handful of Stiles’ ass and sinking his teeth into the firm flesh of the boy’s narrow neck, his fangs aching to drop as the scent of arousal seeped through Stiles’ skin and rolled over the two of them.

“Come on, pup. I want to see you fuck me harder. I want to see you ride my cock with that pretty little tight asshole of yours.”

Stiles rolled his head back in ecstasy, moaning as he obliged, lifting his hips and dropping down, consuming Derek’s length and moving faster and faster.

Derek exhaled a repressed groan, “Fuck, Stiles.”

Stiles’ glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, the thick black frames slanted and crooked. Stiles pushed them back up, looking down at Derek through the shimmering lenses.

Derek dropped his hands to Stiles’ hips, thrusting deep into Stiles.

They came together, spurts of semen erupting from the head of Stiles’ cock and spilling across Derek’s gleaming abs.

Stiles’ failed to breathe as the pleasure rolled over him, muscles throbbing and cum spilling across his torso. He finally let free a small cry, collapsing against Derek’s chest. His ears screamed as a sheet of sweat rolled over his body.

“Stiles?” Derek gasped, afraid that the boy had blacked out.

“Long hair and glasses,” Stiles slurred, taking off his glasses and setting them aside. He nuzzled the soft fuzz that covered Derek’s chest. “I’m slowly working out your kinks.”

“Nope. My only kink is you. Just you.”


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

“Get in the car,” Scott laughed as he playfully shoved Stiles towards the passenger seat of his mother’s car.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked as he tossed his bag into the foot well, grabbed the doorframe and hurled himself into the cabin of the four-wheel drive.

Scott clambered into the driver’s seat and looked across the cabin at his friend.

“It’s a surprise,” Scott said as he fastened his seatbelt and reversed out of the parking space.

“Any hints?” Stiles muttered as they drove towards the quieter streets of town.

“Nope. None.” Scott kept his eyes on the road, knowing that his best friend’s eyes were burning into the side of his skull. He turned onto Stiles’ street, telling his friend to close his eyes.

Stiles sighed and shut his eyes, welcoming the cool embrace of the shadows behind his eyes. He heard the car’s gears shift into park and the driver’s side door open and close. He waited in silence, his ears screaming as he shifted nervously in his seat.

The door beside him opened.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” Stiles asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice.

“Not yet,” a deep voice whispered.

Stiles inhaled the familiar scent of musk and pine trees. “Derek?”

“Hey, pup,” the man whispered, his breath making Stiles shudder as it brushed against his ear. Broad hands unbuckled his seatbelt and guided him out of the car, setting him down on solid ground. Derek set a broad hand between his shoulder blades and guided him forward.

Stiles dragged his feet across the soft sponge of grass and damp earth.

Derek slid his hand down to Stiles’ hand, stilling him.

Stiles waited, feeling his eyes twitch as he waited to be told he would open his eyes. He inhaled a deep breath, the rich scent of his father’s cologne filling his nostrils.

“Hi, dad,” he chirped.

Before his father had the chance to say anything, Derek whispered, “Open your eyes on three; one, two, three.”

Stiles opened his eyes, blinking and squinting against the glaring daylight. His playful smile faltered, shocked by the picture-perfect appearance of their rebuilt house. The bricks had been painted white and the gardens decorated by small shrubs.

Melissa gently hugged Stiles and the Sheriff. She patted her old friend’s arm and smiled up at the old man’s glimmering eyes. “Want to take a look inside?”

Stilinski rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, nibbling as his lips as he nodded.

Melissa took him by his arm, slowly walking him across the front yard to the small concrete steps which lead to the front door – a modern design of dark vanished wood with glass panels.

Scott gently nudged Stiles, sliding his arm around Stiles’ shoulders. They walked down the small path and following their parents while Derek trailed behind them.

Stilinski took a hold of the shining brass doorknob. He turned it and gently pushed the door open. Stilinski practically fell against Melissa, holding her close as he cried tears of joy as he looked around the house.

The walls were replastered and painted, adorned with scavenged photos, empty photo frames for the Sheriff to fill and artistic paintings. The charred floorboards had been replaced by thick rich pine boards. The staircase and doorframes had been repaired.

Melissa gently led Sheriff Stilinski by the arm through the open doorway and into the dining room, watching the man’s expression change; awed by the deep plumb walls and the dark table – generously donated by the young woman down the street and decorated by black placemats and a bowl of fruit. The open space led into the renovated kitchen, where the decades old benchtops had been replaced with dark cupboards and a black marble benchtop. The off-white tiles had been dug up and polished beige tiles.

The bedrooms followed, the colouring schemes and the furniture as close to the old as possible.

They walked from room to room, tears filling Stilinski’s eyes as he took in the rebirth of his house.

Finally they stepped through the doorway and into the living room.

Stiles froze, ignoring the furniture and the colour of the wall. His eyes were drawn to the large picture that sat above the TV; an enlarged print of the photo he had risked his life to save. It was perfect. His mother’s bright smile had been printed onto the thick canvas and stood vibrantly against the newly painted wall. The singed edges or worn creases had been digitally edited with a filter – one which enhanced the striking beauty of the woman.

Stilinski looked over to his son, smiling. Stiles collapsed against his father’s side, tears falling from his eyes.

“There’s one last thing that has to be done,” Derek announced, stepping over the Sheriff’s side. “Something that you have to do yourself.”

He led the man back to the doorframe, tugging off the thin silky sheet that was blue-tacked to the wall.

Stilinski froze, eyes glided on the cursive writing and lines carved out of the ply wood. He ran his hands over his face, wiping away the tears.

Derek offered him the powered handsaw. “All yours.”

Stilinski took it from him with a grateful smile, bringing the saw to the line etched into the wood beneath the cursive ‘Seventeen’.

“When and how did you get my height?” Stiles asked, whispering so no one would hear them.

“I pushed you up against a couple of walls,” Derek replied bluntly.

“You sneaky son of a bitch,” Stiles gasped, genuinely impressed.

Derek smirked, gently brushing his fingers against the palm of Stiles’ hand. The boy turned his palm, returning the gesture and looking up at the man with a soft smile and sparkling chestnut eyes.

 

#

 

Stiles stepped outside onto the small balcony. He set his glass of whiskey aside and sat down next to the hunched figure.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Glistening green eyes turned up to him.

“What you did for my dad… thank you.”

Derek looked down at the glass of alcohol in his hands. “What makes you think it was me?”

“Because I never told anyone else about it.” Stiles smiled. He dropped his head to Derek’s shoulder, feeling the cool night air roll over them. He tilted his chin up, looking deeply into Derek’s eyes.

“I really want to kiss you,” Derek admitted.

Stiles grinned, craning his neck to bring his mouth close to Derek’s. “Then do it.”

“Someone’ll see.”

“I don’t care.”

Derek tilted his chin and brought their lips together. He slid his hand to the back of Stiles’ neck, sliding his fingers through the soft fuzz of the boy’s undercut. Derek drew Stiles closer, the soft whiskers of his unshaved beard tickling the boy’s cheek. He ran his tongue across the boy’s soft pink lip, teasing open his mouth and sinking into the warmth of the kiss. Stiles sighed, melting into Derek’s hold.

Derek pulled back to draw breath, pressing his forehead against Stiles’.

“Stiles, your dad-” Scott stalled, staring at the two with wide eyes.

Stiles held his breath.

Scott swallowed hard. “Your dad’s looking for you,” Scott finished, turning and heading inside.

Stiles rose to his feet and practically ran inside after Scott. He caught up to his friend, shoving Scoot upstairs as he tilted his head around the lounge room doorframe and told his dad that he’d be there in a minute. He stumbled up the pine stairs and pushed Scott into his bedroom, and stood before the door to block his friend’s escape.

“I can explain.”

“Really? Because I’d love to hear your explanation.”

“Uh,” Stiles groaned, unable to put his words together.

“Brilliant explanation,” Scott said sarcastically. “What the hell is going on, Stiles? First you hate Derek and now you’re spending nights at his place and getting all cute and cuddly with him.”

“That’s because… we’re, um… we’re together.”

Scott’s stern expression faltered. “Together? As in…” He raised an eyebrow at Stiles as if to finish his sentence.

Stiles nodded.

“You’re dating Derek Hale?” Scott squealed.

“A little louder, Scott, I don’t think he heard you.”

“No, I heard,” Derek mumbled as he made is way down the hallway and over to the boys. He slouched against the doorframe, glancing over Stiles’ shoulder at Scott.

Scott pointed at Stiles and then to Derek. “You’re screwing him?”

“Dating,” Derek corrected.

“Well, screwing too, and technically he screws me.”

“I don’t need to know,” Scott interrupted.

“Derek, got a minute?” Stilinski called from downstairs.

Derek bent forward and kissed Stiles’ cheek before joining the adults downstairs.

Stiles dropped his eyes. “Scott, I, um-”

“Stiles,” Scott started, quieter. “I’m not shocked by the fact that you’re gay – okay, maybe a little bit – but I’m just shocked at who you chose to be your boyfriend.”

“I love him,” Stiles muttered, sighing as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Scott, with him – for the first time in ages – I am safe and I am happy. Scott, I… I love him.”

Scott’s shoulders dropped. He reached out and patted his friend’s arm.

“We okay?” Stiles asked.

“We’re okay,” Scott whispered, pulling his friend into a tight hug.


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Derek woke up alone in the cold bed, patting the sheets beside him. He sat up, looking around the four faded blue walls of Stiles’ renovated bedroom.

“Stiles?”

There was no reply.

He dragged himself to the edge of the bed, kicking his leg free of the warm blanket. He rose to his feet, feeling his stomach knot as he realised just how quiet it was. He raced to the bathroom and swung the door open.

Stiles wasn’t there.

He sprinted downstairs, pulling up to a halt before the Sheriff who held his phone to his ear. The man looked up to Derek. He covered the phone with a hand as he said, “I can’t find him either, and he’s not at Scott’s.”

Derek sighed. “I think I know where he might. Tell Scott to check the cemetery and if he’s not there, meet me at the park.”

He collected his jacket from the stand by the front door and sprinted into the brisk morning air. It was the start of winter and the short blades of grass were glazed with a thin sheet of ice which crunched beneath his boots as he jogged over to the park.

He halted, making his way over to the old withered cubby house. He tapped his knuckles against the faded wooden panels, crouching down into the doorway and leaning in. He looked at the small figure, curled up in the cobweb-covered corner.

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Derek whispered. “Could use a lick of paint though.”

Stiles didn’t laugh. “Would you have found me if I didn’t tell you where I went?” he asked quietly.

“I would have tracked your scent and torn the town upside down to find you,” Derek admitted.

“I don’t want to go back there,” Stiles whimpered, tears welling in his eyes as he looked up at Derek. “It’s not home.”

“It’ll take time to get used to it. If you want you can stay at my place as long as you want or as long as you need,” Derek whispered. He reached his hand out towards the boy. “Come on, we’ll go for a walk.”

Stiles brushed his fingers against the palm, sliding his hand into Derek’s. Derek pulled him out into the cool air, wrapping his arms around the boy and pulling him against his chest. Derek stripped off his leather jacket and laid it across Stiles’ trembling shoulders.

“Where have you been?” Scott gasped as he sprinted across the park to his friend’s side. “Are you okay?”

A gunshot spilt the air.

Stiles dropped to the ground, hands cupped over his ears as the ringing slowly died away. He clawed at the dew-dampened earth, dragging himself into the protective shadows of a nearby tree.

“Stiles?” Scott called across the space.

Stiles looked over to Scott, patting down his wet clothes and cold skin before shouting back, “I’m okay.” Stiles turned his eyes to Scott’s bright yellow irises. “You?”

Scott nodded and turned his head the other way. “Derek?” he barked.

Stiles scurried over to Scott’s side, practically falling over the boy. Scott clawed at Stiles’ thin hoodie, pulling him into the protection of the tree’s thick trunk and holding him close.

“Derek?” they shouted in unison.

Stiles’ eyes grew wide as he noticed the man’s unfocused bright blue eyes. His broad hand trembled over his gut as a wave of crimson blood coursed across his body, seeping into the fibres of his shirt.

Derek exhaled heavily, staggering.

The boys sprinted to his side, catching him as he dropped to the ground.

Stiles tore apart the dark wool and looked down at the wound, black streams of poison flooded into his veins. He pressed his hand against the wound doing the best he could to stop the bleeding.

“Wolfsbane,” Scott muttered. He looked up at Stiles. “We have to get him to a hospital.”

“No hospitals,” Derek groaned, beads of sweat forming on his head as his complexion grew paler.

“Then what do you suggest?” Scott barked at him. “A vet?”

Derek glared at him.

“Your mum,” Stiles muttered, shrugging off Derek’s jacket and stripping off his hoodie. He tied the thin red hoodie tightly around Derek’s ribs. Derek howled in agony, as the jacket dug into his flesh. Stiles shushed him, setting him down against the cool, damp earth before turning his attention back to Scott. “We can take him to your mum.”

“She’ll freak,” Scott hissed.

“He’ll die,” Stiles growled.

Scott sighed. “Fine. Give me a hand,” he instructed, swinging Derek’s arms over his shoulder. They hurled him to his feet, dragging the toes of his shoes across the grass as they ran towards Scott’s house.

Scott pushed open the front door, guiding Derek into the house.

“Scott?” his mother called from upstairs, her gentle voice echoing through every crevice of the house. They held their breath as the soft padding footsteps drew closer. Melissa froze at the top of the staircase, staring down at the sight of the two boys holding the bleeding man, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Hi, Melissa,” Stiles greeted, voice weakening as he pleaded, “We need your help.”

“He needs a doctor,” she announced as she sprinted down the stairs.

“No hospitals,” Derek hissed, weakly gripping Stiles’ hoodie. He coughed, collapsing to the ground as splatters of red and black blood dripped from his lips.

Stiles dropped to the floor, holding Derek up off the floor.

Derek slumped back against Stiles, his knees weak and breath hissing through gritted teeth.

Melissa sprinted downstairs and crouched before them, tilting her head to get a look at the bullet wound.

“Derek,” she said more firmly. “You have to go to the hospital.”

“No,” he growled, glaring at her. His face weakened as his head lolled to the side.

“Mum,” Scott whimpered. “Please.”

Melissa sighed in defeat. “Stiles, hold him. Scott, clear the table.” She raced into the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil before sprinting into the bathroom to fetch the First Aid kit.

Scott removed the candlesticks and decorative bowls, stripping the tablecloth off the heavy oak table. He hurried back to Stiles and helped the boy carry Derek into the dining room. They heaved the man up onto the table. Stiles pressed his hands against the bleeding wound, feeling the rough the ridges of Derek’s bones pressing against his thinning skin.

Derek stank of blood and death. His body gyrated as thick black veins bulged against his skin. His sweat-soaked skin glistened beneath hanging light.

He fell still, his complexion ghostly pale as his eyes fluttered but failed to open. Stiles looked up at the man’s face, his eyes unmoving and his parted lips stained with blood. Stiles pressed his ear to Derek’s chest.

“He’s not breathing,” he gasped. He held his hand before Derek’s lips, waiting for the soft push of a hot breath against his fingers. Nothing. He turned his head and shouted to Melissa, “He’s not breathing!”

She ordered Scott about as she raced to the table. She pressed her hands against his sternum and pushed hard. Nothing. She pushed again and again. Nothing.

“Damnit,” she hissed, balling her fist and slamming it against the man’s chest.

He coughed and spluttered, heaving in a raspy breath.

She sighed and moved back to the bullet wound. She pushed aside the strips of his blood-soaked shirt, staring down at the torn flesh and weeping swirls of black and red blood.

“I can’t do this,” she muttered.

“Mum, please, you have to.”

“I can’t. I don’t know what damage it’s done or where the bullet is lodged. He could be bleeding internally or the bullet could be positioned as a floodgate for arterial bleeding right now.”

“Melissa,” Stiles whimpered. She looked up to the boy, noticing the tremble in his lip and the tear which caressed his cheek as he whispered, “Please.”

She exhaled heavily and ran her hands through the hot water.

“Stiles, I need you to hold him down,” she instructed as she lifted her hands to the bleeding wound. Stiles pressed his palms into the joints of the man’s shoulders. He pushed his weight against Derek’s shoulders, pinning him against the table.

Melissa took a deep breath and slid her fingers into the squelching flesh of his ribs. She whimpered as she buried her hand deeper. Her nimble fingertips brushed against the smooth backing of the bullet.

“Got it,” she announced as she gently dislodged the lump of lead from the encasing tissue.

Derek buckled, howling in agony.

Melissa withdrew her hand, dropping the bullet to the floor as Derek’s body contorted. He broke free of Stiles’ hold and leapt off the table. She gasped as he shoved her back against the wall, fangs bared and eyes glowing blue.

A loud roar tore through the air.

Derek turned his head. He glared at Scott’s bright yellow eyes and snarled, exposing his fangs. His jagged claws twitched as his raised his hand and threatened to strike Melissa.

A low, warning rumble rose from Scott’s throat.

Derek roared in return, more ferocious and powerful.

Another growl filled the house.

Derek span around, a little shocked. He glowing blue eyes faded to their normal sparkling amblygonite depths as he met Stiles’ narrowed golden eyes.

His expression weakened as he looked at the boy. His knees gave way beneath him as he tumbled to the floor. Stiles ran forward in time to catch Derek before he hit the rug. He lowered Derek into his lap, gently stroking his soft hair.

He felt Scott’s glare.

“Did Derek do that to you?” the boy growled.

Stiles shook his head, too scared to look up at his friend. “Derek’s a beta, not an alpha.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott cried.

“Because I knew you’d act like this,” Stiles snapped.

“I could help you.”

Stiles glared at him. “No, you can’t. Scott, I’m not like you. I can’t control this.”

“You can learn,” Scott whispered, his voice soft and full of worry.

“No, I can’t. I _can’t_ control this _at all_ ,” Stiles whimpered, voice strained. “I need someone there who will kill me if I lose myself.”

“So you told Derek that he can kill you?!”

“What does it matter?! I’m going to be dead in a few months anyway!”

Scott stalled. “What do you mean?”

Stiles dropped his eyes and whispered, “I’m dying, Scott.”

He ran his fingers through Derek’s soft locks, soothing the man as his breathing began to settle and he nuzzled Stiles’ jeans.

“I’m dying,” Stiles sobbed as if only just coming to terms with him. “Just like my mother.”

“Stiles,” Scott whispered, his face warped with guilt. “We’ll work something out.”

Stiles shook his head. “The only way I’ll ever live is if I become a beta, and I don’t want that.”

“Boys.” Melissa broke the heavy silence, heaving in heavy breaths as if she had only just remembered how to breathe. She looked from her son to his best friend, noticing the unnatural yellow hue of their eyes. When she spoke it was soft and weary. “I am honestly terrified and I would appreciate an explanation. And right now I’m open to anything.”

The boys hung their heads.

“Scott,” Melissa warned.

“This is going to sound really weird,” Scott started. “But we’re werewolves.”

“Werewolves?” she stammered, looking at the three of them with a shocked expression. Her glistening brown eyes showed no sign of disbelief, only a glimmer of fear. “All three of you?”

“Derek’s a beta – you can tell by his blue eyes and strength –” Scott explained. “And Stiles and I are omegas – newly turned werewolves.”

“How did you become werewolves?” Melissa asked, still confused.

“Derek was born one,” Scott continued. “I was bitten by an alpha that was killed by hunters and Stiles…”

“I was bitten a few weeks ago by another alpha,” Stiles interjected. “Derek’s training me.”

“Okay,” Melissa said slowly, breathing deeply as she processed everything she had just been told. “You boys carry him upstairs and put him to bed. I’m going to make some tea and we’re all going to sit down and have a nice chat.”


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

“He’s still asleep,” Melissa announced as she came back downstairs from her routine check on Derek. She rubbed at her eyes, leaning back against the pine panelling of the wall.

“Mum?” Scott stated slowly, a little scared.

“I’m okay. It’s just a lot to take in.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he whispered, stepping up to his mother’s side.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, smiling as she pulled her son into a warm embrace and kissed the crown of his head. “I can understand why.”

Melissa stopped at the bottom of the stairs, staring out the dining room window. She caught the eye of the dark figure who stood across the road. The bright glow of the full moon illuminated the creature’s ruffled fur, the strands of dark hair moving as its broad shoulders rose and fell with heavy, rugged breaths. Beady red eyes gleamed in the dark of the night, their glare locked on her.

“Scott?” She stepped closer to her son, refusing to take her eyes off the stranger as she asked, “If yellow eyes are omegas and blue are betas, what’s red?”

“Alpha,” Scott answered. “Why?”

He followed his mother’s gaze to the window. He froze, staring at the large figure outside. He stepped in front of his mum defensively, spreading his arms and letting the power flow through his veins. He tensed his hands and flicked his fingers, revealing his claws and snarling.

“Mum,” he whispered, “Go upstairs, wake up Derek and hide.”

“Why?” she asked cautiously.

“Mum, trust me.” He turned his eyes to Stiles who stood beneath the open doorway of the dining room.

His head was bowed and his shoulders shrugged as a quiet rumble of a growl left his throat. Beneath the curtain of ruffled hair, a golden spark flickered among the shadows.

Scott’s eyes flickered yellow as he braced himself for the oncoming attack.

“Go,” Scott said firmly.

Stiles lifted his head, eyes glowing vibrantly as he stared blankly at Scott. He tilted his head from side to side, as if listening for something.

Melissa sprinted up the stairs and disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

Stiles looked upstairs, listening to the slamming door before turning his attention back to Scott. He snarled.

 _Kill_.

Stiles lunged forward.

His jagged claws caught onto Scott’s bicep as his friend hurled him across the room. Scott stepped aside, bracing himself and gritting his teeth against the pain. He waited for Stiles to regain his footing and race forward again.

His timing was off. Stiles hurled him against the wall, pinning him back against the wooden panels.

There was no mercy or restrain in his attack. His limbs thrashing about without control. His nails dug into Scott’s skin, tearing open his arms and chest.

Scott didn’t fight back, he just took blow after blow. His guard dropped away, his hands falling to his side. He weakened and fell to the floor, rippling the surface of the growing pool of his blood.

Stiles rose to his feet, staggering slightly as he heaved in rugged breaths. He dragged his feet over to the door. He slid the deadlock open and twisted the handle, opening the door for the large figure of the alpha.

The alpha nodded. They grunted, turning their eyes upstairs. Stiles turned, sprinting up the stairs and towards the room. He turned the handle and shoved it open.

Melissa leapt to the other side of the bed, still frantically shaking Derek’s shoulder.

Melissa whimpered, “Derek? Derek, please wake up.”

Stiles stepped into the room and to the side, granting access to the alpha.

Fearful tears streamed down the woman’s face.

The alpha stepped forward, lightly trailing their claws up Derek’s abdomen to his chest. They paused, jaw lifting into what seemed a smile as they sank their nails into Derek’s chest.

Bright blue eyes flew open. Derek howled, fangs bared, as he lunged at the alpha. He threw the beast across the room, shoving them back against the wall and slashing at them with sharp claws.

The alpha growled.

Stiles froze. He could heard the alpha’s voice commanding him.

_Kill. Become a beta. Kill_

Stiles sauntered across the room, prancing onto the bed. He hunched his shoulders, growling at Melissa. He braced himself, ready to pounce. He leapt forward but stopped.

Derek turned, howling.

“Derek,” Stiles whimpered as the roar tore through him. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his head as he thrashed about in pain.

“Stiles?” Melissa asked cautiously. She leant forward, placing her hand on the boy’s shoulder.

_Kill._

“No.” He was crying, tears and snot dripping across his face.

_Kill._

“Stiles, breathe,” she instructed, her voice soft and warm.

_Kill!_

“No!” he screamed.

The alpha flinched. They growled, hurling Derek back against the far wall. They dropped to all fours sprinted out of the room.

Stiles fell still, startled as if waking up from a nightmare. He looked up. “Melissa?”

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly. “You’re okay.”

Derek stumbled to his feet, leaning against the window sill. He grunted as the torn skin of his wounds pulled back together. He panted, bracing himself as if ready to run. His blue eyes grew brighter.

“Melissa?” The beta called, glancing from her to the door.

“I’ve got this,” she answered. “Go.”

He leapt off his feet and sped downstairs.

“Scott… he’s downstairs,” the boy whimpered, breaking the silence as tears streamed down his face. “I think I killed him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I'll go sit in the naughty corner.  
> This hurts me too.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

They burst into the well-lit hallways of the hospital, double doors slamming back against the walls.

The gurney rattled as it rolled across the linoleum.

“Get him into the O.R,” Melissa ordered, running alongside the rolling bed. “He’s going to need blood. AB negative.”

Melissa stopped, watching as the medical crew raced her son into the operating room. The bright white hallway fell out of focus as hot tears blurred her vision and blinded her.

One of the nurses, dressed in blue scrubs stepped over to her side and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know he’s your son and you’re worried, but you of all people know how capable our surgeons are.”

Melissa nodded, blinking tears out of her eyes as she stumbled over to a nearby wash station. She scrubbed at the soft skin of her palms, desperately trying to wash her son’s blood off her hands. She pulled the paper towel from the holder and dried her hands, tossing the crumpled ball of paper in the small waste bin by her feet.

Stiles watched her meticulous actions, a practiced routine.

He turned his eyes down the hall to the dark figure that sauntered over to his side.

Long brown hair bounced off her shoulders, billowing like a curtain as she stepped closer. Her dark eyes glittered blue.

Beta.

Stiles stepped aside, putting himself between Melissa and the woman.

“Where’s the alpha?” Stiles asked, fear seeping into his veins.

“Keeping Derek busy.” The beta smirked. She dragged her nails across the walls, tearing thick gases in the white plaster. “There’s a bomb in this hospital. It’s going to go off in one minute. Join us and I’ll disarm it. Refuse and the deaths of everyone in this building will be on your shoulders. Your choice kid.”

“Don’t listen to her, Stiles,” Melissa whispered from behind her.

The beta’s smile faltered as she glared at the woman.

“Thirty seconds,” the beta announced, nonchalantly.

Stiles looked over his shoulder to Melissa. “Scott will die if I don’t,” he whispered.

Melissa shook her head.

“Twenty seconds.”

The beta yelped as a dark figure collided with her, hurling her down the hallway. She pivoted her ankles and bounced onto her feet, dragging her nails across the floor as she steadied herself. She growled, hair billowing around her slender almond shoulders as she met the vibrant sapphire eyes that glared at her.

Derek straightened his back, his broad figure shielding Stiles.

“Bitch,” he spat venomously.

The beta snarled as she rose to her feet. The anger seemed to wash over her as a smug smile took its place and she chuckled. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve lost.”

It sounded as if every atom had split; a deafening roar that tore through Stiles, the shockwave knocking the air from his lungs and hurling him against the wall behind him. He felt his bones shatter as his skin burn as the heat tore at his flesh. Through the haze of shock he saw a rolling wave of rubble, dust and debris rolled towards him. He never saw it hit. The world seemed to fade into a silent, black abyss as he collapsed to the ground.

The roaring noise drained away to a constant whine as Stiles slowly blinked his eyes open, staring at the ruins of the hospital. The white walls were covered with ash and the dust of shattered bricks. Piles of rubble littered the hallway. He slowly rose to his feet, feeling the small scratches on his forehead healed.

He stumbled slightly, watching as figures flittered back and forth down the hallways, evacuating the survivors.

“Derek?” he called, weakly.

He caught sight of the man, his bleeding body slumped against the wall.

Stiles ran to him, dropping to his side and pressing his hand against the thick gash in his chest. The gushing blood poured over the boy’s trembling slender fingers.

“I’ll be okay,” Derek rasped. “Go find Melissa and get as far away from the alpha as you can.”

Stiles’ eyes flickered yellow as he looked up at Derek.

Derek lifted a hand to Stiles’ cheek, gently brushing the smooth soot-covered skin as he whispered, “I love you.”

Stiles leant forward and kissed him, sniffing back tears as he raced down the hallway. He stopped a few feet from the corner, noticing the disfigured and dismembered body of what used to be the beta woman. Her dark brown eyes were glassy, and swirled with the smoky wisps of ghosts as she stared emotionlessly across the hallway.

“This is where your alpha left you,” he whispered as he stared at her unmoving corpse.

He felt a small pinch of remorse for the woman. He stepped across the hallway to a small metal supply cupboard and collected a crisp white sheet. The linen crackled as he flicked it open and laid it across the beta’s dead body.

He felt as if he should say something, but the words never came forward. He bit into his lip, holding his breath as the rich smell or iron and ash burnt his nostrils. He backed away, unable to take his eyes off the sheet until he rounded the corner. His legs trembled under his weight. He stumbled slightly as he sprinted down the hallway.

He stopped, slumping against the wall as the image of Derek filled into his mind. His sparkling green eyes flashed blue as he leapt to his feet and lunged forward.

Stiles blinked it away, turning around in circles as he searched the swirling clouds of dust.

“Melissa?” He called through the rubble, shouting over the ringing in his ears. “Melissa?”

The hallways began to waver. His throat clamped shut as he choked on his breath. Tears stung his eyes as he stumbled and collapsed against the wall. He pressed his forehead against the plaster.

Gentle hands steadied him, turning him around.

“Melissa?” he gasped, breathlessly as he tried to swallow the rising bile in his throat.

He looked up at the twinkling brown eyes.

She was talking to him but he couldn’t hear her.

Flashes of light and colour blinded him as a yellow haze passed across his vision.

He blinked, opening his eyes back up to see Derek lunge at him, claws slashing his throat.

He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and shoving at the body before him. He felt his tense fingers twitch, his jagged claws smooth out to his normal, soft pink nails. A strange warmth trickled over his knuckles, streaming across the skin of his hand. He heard a strangled gasp, but it wasn’t his.

He blinked rapidly, images shifting as he was relinquished from the alpha’s grasp. He slowed his blinking, retuning to reality.

His heart skipped a beat and his breath caught in his throat as he realised Derek wasn’t there; Melissa was.

The warmth was.

He lowered his gaze to the disturbing sight of his fingers burrowed deep inside Mellissa’s gut. Thick, sticky blood rolled across his hands, dripping from his palms and splashing like raindrops against the dust-covered linoleum.

He withdrew his fingers.

He grabbed a hold of Melissa, lowering her to the floor. He pressed his hand against her impaled gut, staring up at her wide eyes.

“Help,” he screamed, his voice ricocheting off the walls. “Somebody help!”

Nurses scurried to their side, lifting Melissa onto a stretcher and quickly rolled her down the hallway, he followed, blood dripping from his hands as he watched the nurses lift her into the back of an ambulance which waited outside the hospital.

Stiles watched as the paramedics and medical crews attended to her.

He stepped away from the flashing lights, blending into the crowd and disappearing into the inky black shadows of the night.

 

#

 

Derek’s breath swirled in crisp white clouds before his face as he jogged up to his house. He slowed to a walk, boots scuffing the fallen leaves as he stepped up to the balcony. His eyes fell on the small curled up figure of a boy that cowered in the shadows of the front door.

He stepped up onto the withered wooden planks and crouched before Stiles, gently sliding his finger under the boy’s chin and lifting his head to meet the man’s worried gaze.

“Show me your eyes,” Derek whispered.

Stiles shook his head, his tear-stained cheeks glittering in the light of the full moon.

Derek cupped Stiles’ cheek, turning the boy’s face towards his and forcing him to look into his eyes as they flickered and glowed red. He spoke with the authority of an alpha. “Show me your eyes.”

Stiles blinked heavily, his irises igniting with an unhuman glow.

Blue.

Beta.


	40. Chapter Forty

“Werewolf lore dictates that if an omega spills innocent blood they are to be cursed with the life of a beta and if one is to kill an alpha they take their power and title,” Derek explained, handing Stiles a cup of tea before sitting down next to him.

“So you’re my alpha now?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded. “If you want me to be.”

Stiles hung his head, staring down at the hot tea that swirled about in his hands. The heat melted through the mug and into the palms of his hands.

“I’m a monster,” the boy whimpered.

“No, you’re not,” Derek said softly.

“My mother died thinking I was a monster… that I was trying to kill her. Maybe she was right.”

“Stiles, your mother was sick. She wasn’t in her right mind.”

“And I’m going to be just like her.” Stiles set his cup down on the thick red oak table and dropped his hands to his lap.

Derek leant forward to look the boy in the eye. “No, you’re not. Stiles, if you’re a beta, you can heal to a greater extent.”

“So I’m going to live?” Stiles asked, sounding remorseful rather than joyous.

“Yes,” Derek replied with a soft smile.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Stiles-”

“What?” the boy yelped. “Would it really be that bad if I died?”

“Yes, it would. You are not a monster, Stiles,” Derek said firmly, keeping his voice calm and level. “There are two things that would make you a monster: if you had done it of your own free will and if you had enjoyed it; neither of which is what you did.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Stiles muttered.

“Hey,” Derek whispered, getting Stiles’ attention. “You didn’t kill her. Melissa’s going to be fine.”

Stiles shook his head.

“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” Stiles sobbed.

“Do what?”

“This. All of it. Being a werewolf. Being with you. I can’t risk hurting anyone else. I can’t risk hurting you.”

“You won’t.”

“You deserve so much better than me, Derek.”

Derek’s features fell into a scowl. He slammed his drink down on the table.

“If that’s really what you think then maybe you should just leave!” he snapped.

“Fine!” Stiles retorted, shoving his chair back with his knees as he rose to his feet and stormed out of the house.

Derek hung his head, biting his lips as regret instantly flooding his body. He leapt out of his chair and ran outside.

“Stiles,” he shouted after the boy. But for the first time, Stiles was not stilled by his voice.

The boy pulled his hands out of the pockets of his shredded hoodie and ran.

 

#

 

Stiles sat on the new couch, clutching his knees to his chest. He stared at the printed canvas of his mother, feeling his heart sink and stomach twist with the pain and guilt that never faded or left. He failed to take his eyes off of the woman’s mesmerising smile, the one he never got to see again.

There was a knock at the front door, disturbing the quiet of the house and the rattle of the rain against the glass.

“Stiles, can you grab that?” his father called from the other room.

Stiles uncurled himself, setting his feet down on the floor and dragged himself to the door. He glanced into the dining room, watching his father rake his fingers down his face as he flicked through a stack of paperwork and tried to rebuild whatever files were lost in the fire.

_Would it really matter if I left?_

Stiles sighed and twisted the deadlock, pulling the bolt back with a loud click as he opened the door.

He froze.

Broad shoulders heaved in heavy breaths, thick grey V-neck drenched by the rain clung to the man’s defined muscles and the curves of his body. His naturally sparkling eyes stared at Stiles, the green depths filled with panic and worry.

“I can’t lose you,” Derek gasped. “I’ve finally found something I want to hold onto, someone I want to protect... For the first time in years I am happy and I’m not ready to give up on that. I’m not ready to give up on us.”

He took Stiles’ face in his hands, bringing their mouths together.

Derek’s lips were wet and cold, but the kiss sent waves of blistering heat through their bodies.

Stiles didn’t pull back. His hands crept up to Derek’s chest. He looped his arms around the man’s neck and tilted his head, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

Small tears trailed down their cheeks.

Derek pulled back, breaking the kiss as he desperately gulped down mouthfuls of the cool air.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

Derek shushed him, pressing a kiss to his tear-stained cheek.

“I love you,” Stiles whispered.

“I love you too.”

 

#

 

Sheriff Stilinski pranced upstairs, stopping at his son’s bedroom. He gently knocked against the wooden panel before slowly pushing the door open.

“Hey, you two have been really quiet, are you-?”

He silenced himself, staring at his son and Derek, curled up together on the bed. Derek – dressed in a pair of Sheriff Stilinski’s track pants and a baggy cotton BHPD shirt – coiled his limbs over the boy, wrapping himself around Stiles’ nimble figure protectively while the boy rested his back against the man’s chest.

Stilinski couldn’t help but smile.

He crept forward, pulling the blanket up over the two.

Stiles hummed, snuggling further against Derek. Derek nuzzled Stiles’ scruffy hair, tugging at Stiles’ waist and drawing the boy closer to his warmth.

Stilinski’s smile softened and widened, and for the first time in years he was content in knowing his son would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, Control has reached it's conclusion.  
> I'd like to thank you all for your encouragement and support.  
> I apologise for the rollercoaster of emotions, but I hope you all enjoyed it.

**Author's Note:**

> For Emily, Happy Birthday! :)
> 
> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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